The Return to Asgard
by PeechTao
Summary: Clint makes the return to Asgard after the Events of Vibranium. But all is not how he left it. the air is sharp with ice, Frost Giant have laid siege on the city and vow to tear it to its foundations. Thor, battle torn, recruits Clint to help find the mysteriously disappeared Fandral. What darkness is lurking in Loki's shadows. Who is helping the enemy? who can be trusted? EPIC!
1. Prologue

_this is going to be EPIC!_

**Synopsis:**

_ The catchup:_ Clint and Loki were in a hot final battle where Clint, wielding Mjolnir for the fallen Thor was near the point of killing Loki once and for all. Until Natasha shot him in the head (accident). After being transported to Asgard by Fandral who had seen Clint's strength, Clint was mended by Frigga and presented to Odin. For his bravery, Clint was given a Gift of Allfather, a golden Asgardian bow to replace the one destroyed by Loki and he was officially admitted to the high court as a warrior of the realm. But how did Loki ever get out in the first place? HMMMMMM...

_Current Events:_ Asgard lays besieged in the wake of a Frost Giant invasion not even Heimdal saw coming. With the capital's walls sealed from within and Loki moved to the underground for safe keeping, it is up to Clint to find Fandral, uncover the confederates helping to ferry the Frost Giants into the Asgardian lands, and somehow stop Loki's underlings from bringing about the fall of the realms. But how is a human going to make any difference in the land of Asgard. Clint must test his worth, find his own band along the way, and save the universe.

_Who's in it:_ Everyone! Even though this is focusing mainly on the events of Asgard and an OC or two, this is an absolute ride! We begin the first few chapters on Earth before the switch over to Asgard and this time, Tony is not letting Clint have all the fun. Even if he has to risk materializing in empty space . . . again . . . Tony is getting the Avengers to Asgard, one way or another.

**The Return To Asgard**

**Prologue**

_A voice called out to him in the din of the moonless night. His eyes turned up as he watched the stars fall soundlessly from the sky and strike against the distant horizon. Each one set off a concussion which threw him back into the wall of jagged rock. He turned. His eyes were desperate for some way of escape even as the stars fell closer. They littered the horizon, crashing and burning with force that shook him to the bones. A voice continued to call, whispering subtly in his ear but always just distant enough for him to miss it. _

_A pain filled his gut. His blood pushed as slow as dough through constricted veins. He longed to find the words to cry out. _

_The stars were electrifying now. Exploding so close he could hardly stand to watch. But the world was shifting. Crushing him into the wall of rock as the closest of the stars began to alter on the horizon. With the form like a man, the frozen rock unfurled. Blood red eyes, eyes like Loki, sealed upon him and the pulling of his gut became unbearable. He looked down. The ooze of his thick blood was his only warmth. The realm had gone cold. Asgard was beginning to freeze. _

_He raised his head to the heavens. His breath jammed in his chest as the first wave of red-eyed giants came crashing down around him._

"_Thor." The warrior whispered. "Thor."_

:(:):

Clint Barton didn't often dream. Two years since joining the Avengers. Two years since that fateful day where he had been stolen from his own body and murdered the only people in his life that cared about him. Two years since the strange group of strangers became the only family Clint would ever really know. Banner, the doctor and psychiatrist to everyone. Tony, the crazy brother. Pepper, the guarding mother. Steve, the demanding father. Thor, the distant cousin. And Natasha, the lover.

Two years, and finally those dreams and nightmares that plagued him since birth drifted away. There was nothing at night. Nothing but him, his bed (if he was that lucky) and the possibility of waking up in the morning. What more did a guy need? He thought his life was complete. Or at least good enough. He couldn't ask for anything better than what he had.

When the dreams came back it took him by surprise. They crept up on him one night after what could have been considered a perfectly normal day.

Stark had moved the team to Miami. Recent events around the city had them set up in a little bungalow by the beach. Typical Stark style called for buying up three houses right on the water for an obscene fortune then selling them for three times there worth when the mission was over. Careful marketing would return his pretty penny in spades. The Avengers were still all the rage as far as celebrities were concerned. The whole world would want a shot at stepping into a place once occupied by the heroes.

A combination of Pepper and SHIELD convinced him out of it. Apparently this mission called for a talent Tony was not well equipped for. Secrecy. Advertising the Avengers were in the neighborhood wasn't exactly conducive to that.

The alternative path took them to the basic hotel accommodations along the Miami coastline. High rise building, a thousand little hovels all with the same basic make and model. Everyone was staying under assumed names and guises. Even Stark had somehow found a way to hide his famous face beneath a ten dollar beard, bowler hat, and hobo costume he found at a Halloween store. Guest relations wouldn't ask why anyone dressed like that could afford an ocean view. This was Miami after all, oddities were almost as common here as the red carpet at the Grammy's.

Clint shared a small two bedroom facing the not-to-distant ocean with Banner and Natasha. The part-time Hulk slept like a rock on most occasions when he'd had a full day of being green and mean. Otherwise he was a relative light sleeper and easily disturbed by anything Nat and Clint would decide to do in the bed right beside him. To his benefit, that wasn't much. The assassins tended to keep their late night romps to a minimum with company around. It was simple common courtesy.

Banner wasn't even in bed when Clint stumbled into the shared room and one by one pulled his shoes off with his feet. His shirt hit the floor beside his shoes. His quiver rested by the door.

"Rough day?" Bruce asked, flicking through pages of what Clint recognized as a science magazine.

Clint grunted. He pulled off his belt and let that drop into his pile. He crawled into bed, yanked half of the covers over his head, and was asleep in moments.

Bruce pulled off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. "Clint?"

The mass in the bed snored.

Bruce sighed. He rubbed his eyes and checked the red digital clock blinking on the desk. It was hardly ten at night. Clint and Natasha had been out doing recon for the past two days. Obviously Clint hadn't managed to fit any catnaps in during that time. Out of habit more than concern, Bruce stood and picked up Clint's discarded clothes. Keeping tidy was the least of his worries. Looking for blood, bullet holes, or burn marks was his typical task. This time around he found none.

Not a bad day then.

Bruce set the clothes off to the side and went to head out, maybe catch up with Natasha or Tony but the body launching out of the bed stopped him. Clint was awake again, a partial scream on his lips. His hand was against his chest. Even Banner could feel the distress radiating from him.

Bruce was swiftly to his side. "Hey, are you ok?"

Clint took a minute to look around, as if attempting to remember where he was. He scrubbed his face with his hand, eyes wide and wild like an animal trapped in a cage. "What the Hell . . ?"

"Clint?"

Barton rolled over to look up at Banner. "What just happened?"

"Well, you walked in the door. Then you shed your clothes. Then you climbed in bed and went to sleep for about three seconds."

Clint shook his head, itching his hand through his hairline. "Wow, that was weird."

"You all right?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah, ok, I think so."

He eased himself down, pulling the stiff hotel blankets back up to his face.

Bruce watched him for a few minutes, as if waiting for him to spring to life again. When it seemed safe enough to go Bruce headed back for the door, temporarily avoiding the sleepless night soon to plague him.

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_Ok, so i will confess, i'm net even done writing this story yet! but i'm just sooooooo excited i had to start putting up what i do have. and please love the cover, i work hard on it:)  
_


	2. Chapter 1

**The Return To Asgard**

Chapter 1

Clint hung his head against his palm, his left leg was propped up on Natasha's chair. A bowl of soggy chocolate cereal lay fermenting in his bowl as his spoon slowly twirled patterns in the crispies. Natasha rubbed a hand along his back absentmindedly. It had been a long intolerable night for both of them. Normal and reasonable sense should have told Natasha to get up and pass out on the pullout couch. But loyalty kept her in his bed, holding him through the nightmares that struck without warning.

Tony sat across the table, starring at them. "Wow, you two kids have a rough night?"

Natasha asked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would, actually, it looks like you've deflated my best friend. Clint, if she broke you, I will avenge you and I mean that from the bottom of my heart."

Clint smiled. "Funny. I don't know what happened last night. The worst night sleep of my life. Maybe I had too much coffee."

"Dreams keeping you up?"

"Yeah. Sucked."

"What about?"

Clint jerked his shoulders up and let them drop. "Got me. Coulda been dinosaurs for all I remember. Kept just waking up, screaming, my heart racing, that feel of falling. It was just non-stop like a Barney song. Eventually I gave up and sat out here the rest of the night."

Tony's eyes took in the cereal bowl, probably poured in the early morning, then back at Clint. "I see how that worked out for you."

"Says he'll be fine for the pickup today." Natasha put in.

"You sure about that?"

Clint grinned. "Come on, Tony, a little respect for the master of all things bow related. Nat's going in, she'll grab the crap, I'm just sitting there looking pretty unless something goes sideways. Yeah, I'll be fine."

Tony held a hand palm out. "Ok, ok, just checking. And if things do go south make sure you call. I'm going to be a few buildings down but I have my other suit with me. If you need me, I'll be there."

Natasha pouted her lips. "Awe, how cute. The concern is _almost_ directed at me. Will you two get over your bromance so we can head out now?" She climbed out of her seat and headed to the bedroom to grab her equipment. With the private moment it afforded Clint and Tony, they drew closer together. Clint put his fist out, so did Tony. They smashed their fingers together, pulled back in an explosion, came back together, touched their elbows and separated.

Bromance or not, he knew Tony would always have his back. Even if the billionaire had tried to choke him to death twice in their past. In his own, not so subtle way, Tony was trying to ascertain whether or not Clint would be fine with this job they had come to do. Technically, the assassin could tell Tony to keep himself out of the mix. Iron Man was just about the last thing they needed to deal with during this undercover operation and Stark knew that as well as SHIELD did when they told him to stay home.

In the typical Stark style, he came along anyway.

Clint knew the reason for it. After being away from the Stark Tower for nearly four months on a mission with Natasha alone, Tony had been placed in some rough spots with no one there to back him up. No bow standing on a rooftop watching his hide, no assassin on the ground picking up the pieces of bad guy he dropped, even Steve was called away to his own mission. Stark held his own, after all he'd done fine in the past as the lone Iron Man in a world full of business men and baddies who all wanted a piece of him. But that didn't make him more cautious than before. After so long as a team, suddenly having that pulled away was a difficult process. He would never admit missing the others, but the refusal to stay home when Natasha and Clint were sent on yet another undercover mission, this time within the continental United States, there was nothing SHIELD could do to keep Tony out of it.

"I'll be fine." Clint assured him. As if to emphasize his point he took a bite out of the soggy cereal in front of him. "What kind of assassin would I be if I couldn't handle a sleepless night once in a while?"

Tony shrugged. "A human one."

"We don't get the luxury of being human, you know that."

From the side door at Clint's back came the scrawny figure of Bruce Banner. Out of everyone, even Tony, he was the last person in the world to get out of bed with a spring in his step. More often he stumbled around in the morning sunlight like a drunk waking from a hangover. Today was no different. From beneath a shade of hair that had grown out passed its cut-it-off date, he cast an evil glare that probably came more from the Hulk than the mild mannered doctor. The glare was directed to one individual alone, Clint Barton.

Before anything could be said, Clint opened his mouth. "Sorry, Bruce. Hope I didn't keep you up all night."

With a zombie foot drag, Banner went for the mini fridge. It was empty. It took him a little longer to wonder why until he remembered they were crashing at a hotel in the south end of Miami. Despondently, he closed the fridge door again and looked expectantly at Clint's bowl of cereal. Without a word, Clint slid it over to him. Milk laden as it was by now, it wasn't much of an offering, but any gesture of getting back on Banner's good side was worth the attempt.

"First hour or two wasn't that bad." Banner said after a few shovels of food. "I was able to sleep through that. It was the rest of the night."

"Sorry." Clint repeated. "I'll do us a favor and stay on the couch tonight if we get back in time for sleep."

Banner nodded. "I'd appreciate it."

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next chapter up tomorrow!


	3. Chapter 2

The Return to Asgard

Chapter 2

Clint didn't realize at the time that getting home to sleep on the couch was the last thing he would have to concern himself over. Living through the day at all would be so wholly part of his mental faculties that the consideration for even this basic human need would be impossible.

To coin Tony's cleverly chosen term: the mission _did _go south. But that would be placing the events that occurred in a clever package of goodness. There were many curses that could better define exactly what Clint thought of this stint in Miami. None of them were as simple as saying "it went south".

They started out like they had every day in the past month. Natasha was the face of the operation this time around. Clint was her back up. He hung out on whatever high rise was most profitable to his ability to keep his sights trained on her. After making contact with the secondary target, there was often an hour or two of following the twisted curves of whatever pick-up vehicle the secondary hired. Clint followed until the driving slowed to a stop and the secondary target led her to the meeting place.

Clint headed to the closest position he could hide out in while still covering a general field of view and there, he waited. Sometimes it was a few minutes, other times it could be four or five hours. It all depended on whether the primary target was going to show his face or not. To be honest, no one really knew who the primary was. Clint and Natasha first crossed his trail in Marrakesh six months before, and it was possible they had been in indirect contact for the past few years with his tech. An arms dealer, he wasn't that much different than a lot of the bottom feeders that went in and out of Barton's scope. What finally kicked him to the most wanted list on SHIELD's radar was a sale of vibranium to the Russian government.

During the Marrakesh mission, Clint had come across some stray coded files which he turned in to the code-boys on the Helicarrier. With only a broken lead to go with, the higher ups thought it necessary to sanction some intelligence gathering. After so long of globetrotting, Clint was pleased to be in the continental United States. Not that he had anything against travel, but he liked his ability to get a crappy McDonalds burger 24 x 7 at eight different establishments within two city blocks. Well, that and it meant he was closer to home.

When Natasha was sent in as a buyer of exotic metals and a hostess for the Ukrainians, red flags went off in a few different underground circles. Some of the lesser ones were weeded out early and picked up real quiet-like by other government agencies. But when it became obvious Natasha was a heavy hitter, looking to get her hands on not just uranium, but also adamantium and the defense department's leaked vibranium trove, then one very particular seller turned her way.

With such high profile cargo, it was bound to take a while for a rapport to develop between her and the primary target. All their work over the last few months was boiling down to these final days. Natasha's front was supposed to be returning to Ukraine within the week. The cargo was supposed to be finalized today and the minute either Clint or Natasha caught sight of Jackson Cree they were to take him down. No questions asked.

So, the plan had a few minor flaws. Neither actually knew what this Jackson guy looked like besides some random fuzzy photos taken at a border crossing in Mexico three years ago. Few had ever seen him since. Even fewer could give an accurate description and to be frank, this was a new age. The face he had, the hair color described, and all other defining features that made a person unique were as easy to change as detailing a car. They were hunting ghosts and shadows. Something both were talented in, but preferred never to face.

It was passed four-o-clock and Natasha was becoming impatient though it was obvious she attempted to hide it. It might have fooled whatever men were sitting there sharing an early dinner with her, but Clint wasn't so easily dissuaded. He could see that tell-tale toe tapping she was doing under the cover of the table top. Her head was cocked a little to the right, allowing her peripheral vision to take in his position. Another seven hours wasted. Another dead end. Another no-show by Cree.

"Fantastic." Clint whispered to himself. He leaned back on the roof until his back was supported by a stove stack. The roof he had taken position on was covered in small white pebbles. Why, or how they were placed up there he had no idea. In some of the hours he'd been sitting there he'd allowed himself to think about that. Now, he was numb to it.

Beside his leg rested his Asgardian bow. The silvery white metal etched in black scrolls carved by Odin himself. The black string was strong enough to resist the edge of a knife spun from the mane of Sleipnir. Just looking at it brought Clint's mind back to the beauty that blinded him in Thor's world. The flowing falls of water, the colors of nights and day so varied his eyes could scarcely decipher them all. He fought hard keeping his day dreams from robbing him of his focus. At any moment, Natasha may need him. But patience was never exactly one of his strong suits. He hated these sit and wait cases, especially not being the face in the operation.

He sighed, picking at the roof pebbles and fussing with the recall mechanism of his bow. One moment it would be sitting normally beside him, the next it would vanish in thin air. Then he would call it back and repeat the process. Where the bow went when it was not directly in his hand, he would never know. Odin never really had the opportunity to explain that to him. What mattered is that it worked, it was entertaining, and it kept him from going completely insane with inactivity.

It was another three hours of this sitting, watching, waiting, before at last it seemed something was stirring. Natasha and her host moved indoors from the open balcony. They were talking shop. She was flirting. The secondary was acting like it was meant for him. The minute he got grabby, Clint had no problem shooting an arrow through his forehead. Or…someplace a little more personal. He knew it was part of the mission, her cover, but still it bothered him.

A few floors down a long black SUV pulled to the front of the building. Four men got out. One from the passenger seat, and at first two from the back. They waited, looking around with their fingers against the sides of their heads. Clint had to chuckle to himself watching them. They looked the part of real secret service boys. It was comical really. They were nothing but black suits, slim ties, and tethered earpieces. Each one had a gun that he could tell. Only one made it obvious. He was wielding, funny enough, a THOR Global Defense Group TR-15 carbine assault rifle with red dot laser targeting. Clint whistled through his teeth.

"What's a guy your size need that for?" Clint said quietly. He picked up his Asgardian bow, pulled out one of Tony's new arrows, and set it on the string.

The last man climbed out of the SUV. He wasn't much like Clint expected to see, but some instinct told him this was exactly the man they had been hunting for so long. He briefly considered just taking him out on the sidewalk and calling it a day, but seeing that assault rifle gave him some semblance of pause. From his position, with a laser sight and good shot he was a sitting duck. There was no way of knowing whether the guy holding the gun was a good shot or not at this point.

Clint left the arrow on his string and waited for the men to move inside. When they were out of range, he pulled back the string and let the arrow go.

With precision and accuracy that awarded him his nickname, Hawkeye fired a perfect shot at the tail pipe of the SUV. The arrowhead lodged in, sparked red momentarily, and then went dim. The shaft that had once been as solid as any other suddenly fell apart in a cloud of black mist. Within moments it had completely disintegrated.

The SUV pulled forward and the clueless driver headed down the road to park.

"Not bad, Tony." Clint said to himself. He pulled out the small GPS from his waist pocket. A few lights blinked on and off before a map appeared with a digital rendering of the vehicle in the center of it. The tracker was working perfectly if it became necessary to use it.

Clint switched the device off and put the GPS back in his pocket. His gaze went back to watching Natasha. He hoped that the man with the rifle would hang out by the suite door, but as time progressed and the troop made it to the room with Natasha, that notion became a pipe dream. Rifle made a position by the window and stood there with a mean look on his face as he scanned the area.

"Crap." Clint whispered. He watched the exchange just inside the terrace, his studies in lip reading coming in handy to keep up with the conversation. Another arrow was already set on his bow, waiting.

Natasha was genial as always. She got up from her seat on the couch by the secondary target. She didn't offer to shake Jackson's hand. He didn't either. They were professionals, not willing to give someone else they did not know the opportunity to get a hold of them.

Natasha cocked her head to the man with the rifle. "Nice tech." she said. "But less than impressive when compared to what I am looking for."

"Oh you would be surprised the punch that little thing packs." Jackson said with a shrug.

Natasha gave him a challenged smile. She could be a minx. "Mind if I take a closer look?"

Jackson held out his arm, palm open. "Be my guest. You have been patient enough with me."

Clint quirked up a corner of his mouth as he watched Natasha cross the room and easily remove the rifle from the trigger man's hands. His opening was clear. Heck, she could complete the job easily enough with that blunderbuss in her hands. SHIELD was rather non-descript in this situation of dead or alive capture. When things like that were left to interpretation in SHIELD, the implication was for dead.

Clint rechecked his arrow tip. He was happy with the standard he'd gone with but that didn't make him cautious about double checking. After all, Natasha was in there and though he'd seen her survive some wallops in the past, he was not inclined to accidently drop a bomb in that room either. All he needed now was to find an angle he liked to shoot from.

There was the sound of gravel shifting under foot. A crunch like the movements of pebbles came from directly behind him. Clint turned at once. The bowstring pulled back. The slam of a hard, metal object whipped his head sideways. Momentarily stunned, Clint scrambled on his hands and knees to put some distance between himself and the man towering over him.

The metal object came down again, but this time Clint was ready for it. He rolled out of the way. His bow was no good from his back, so he pulled the arrow from the string and used it as a knife. The man jumped back, out of the way of Clint's arrow head while at the same time trying to come back around with the end of his shotgun barrel. Clint put up his arm to block it, regretted the decision when it felt as if he had broken every bone in his wrist, and launched forward to tackle the man to the ground. They grappled.

Somewhere across the road shots were going off. A rifle began to fire, but it was impossible to know if it was Natasha or the others doing the shooting.

The shot gun skittered across the pebble roof and out of the attacker's hands along with Clint's first arrow head. From his back, the thug struggled, his meaty hands working around Clint's arms and face, trying to get a firm hold of his throat. One-handed Clint brushed him off. His other arm reached back to his quiver and pulled the first arrow he could feel. Without looking he stabbed the arrow tip down.

A meaty fist pulled back and clocked Clint's face sideways.

More gunshots resounded off the echoing buildings. The rifle shots interspersed between cracks of nine millimeters. No matter what Natasha had her hands on, someone was returning fire.

Clint fell sideways with the force of the punch. The arrow he'd managed to stick in his assailant's throat did remarkably little to stop the goliath. Without pausing to pull it free, the man was on the SHIELD agent again. Clint managed another arrow pull. He stabbed it into the man's leg. Then pulled another and plugged it into his middle.

There was a small, hardly distinct blue light that flickered from the thug's neck. If he hadn't been hovering over Clint's face, pounding on the agent's kidneys, Clint may have missed it altogether. He knew what it meant, and he also knew he had to break away for cover. Now.

Clint pulled another arrow and the thug yanked him to his feet. This one Clint was able to bring up and over the man's arms, creating an extra piercing through his face. With the onslaught, Clint was dropped.

Barton scrambled away like a rat. He rushed for the smoke stack, never reaching so far before the shock of the concussive blast knocked him off his feet and small bits of bad guy littered the city block. Clint was picked up with the blast, his body sailed through the air, falling . . . falling . . . falling to the city street stretched below.

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please review!


	4. Chapter 3

The Return to Asgard

Chapter 3

_He was cold as ice. His breath froze into floating crystals as it exited his mouth. He was panting against someone's shoulder. He felt the hard, cold steel of a sword in his hands. His body was jabbing forward, cutting the body across from him to pieces. Shattered screams of his victim rose like the cackles of a feral dog into the sun stripped sky. Darkness fell upon them as heavy as the weight of the now dead body collapsing against his own. Fandral struggled to pull himself from beneath the weight and lifted his eyes to the field strewn in bodies._

_Great beings, tall and ghostly pale with skin cracked like cubes of ice stood swinging their battle axes in all directions. Friends, comrades, and brothers-in-arms stood in their path as the battle lines meshed and twisted like the tentacles of a writhing monster. Screams of derision cut the air among the cries of those who suffered the blow of death. A mist rose, clinging to the suits of armor like a physical creature. Dragging the men to their knees as the giants swung their weapons and the warriors knew no more._

_Fandral pulled himself free. Standing apart in the field, a man capped in gold stood raised above the war ravaging the world beneath him. His likeness familiar. The bow he held was that of Asgard. It was Clint's gift from Odin._

_The man drew back the string of Sleiphner's mane and let an arrow fly. A ribbon of gold cut through the battle field. The arrow working its way unimpeded until fulfilling its course. Its arrow borrowed deep into Fandral's heart._

Clint blinked the world into some sort of focus. He was laying on his belly, across something hard, and his hands were not responding to his want to lift himself up. His mouth tasted of copper and blood. There was the musk of stale heat hung in the air with few rays of filtered light beaming through cracked boards in front of him. Gauging by the amount of light, he estimated the majority of the day had already passed him by. Given that it was already approaching sunset when he was presumably taken, it was either already the next day or even the day after that. Losing control of his faculties in that was never his idea of a good situation to be thrown in.

He assessed his physical health. Shifting each important muscle individually to test their strength. His thigh felt oddly numb, he'd probably been sleeping on it. His face was sore, the rib fracture he'd suffered years ago came back to bother him. They reminded him in a not-so-subtle way that he'd lost a rib already, and his liver didn't take kindly to the unprotected pounding.

He rolled off of his stomach and faced up to the ceiling. It was a simple ramshackle roof with metal plate sheeting. Funny, recon didn't produce many of those in the immediate area. So what exactly was he looking at? And where?

"Oh God, if they took me to the boondocks, I will be hating my life." He muttered to himself. He pulled at the bindings on his wrist to try and determine how loose they were. Sadly they were relatively efficient. Clint adjusted his body in a contorted fluidity. His toes pointed out and back, his knees bent close to his body, and in no time his hands were in front of him. He was held together with a zip-tie. Clint looked around for a sharp corner to cut himself apart with. Mostly the shack was made of little but old wood and metal roof. Wood tended to be held together with nails. His eyes fixated on any exposed nails he could find. In the far left corner, just above his eye level was one such nail.

Clint got to his feet. He shook his leg out, trying to get some feeling put back into it. He hooked his arms up on the nail and raked the plastic against it. It took more swipes then he liked but eventually it freed. Clint checked his wrists for damage but was proud to find none save the great purple bruise in the shape of a shotgun barrel.

With a flick of his wrist, he imagined his Asgardian bow would appear and nearly as quickly it was there. At least it could offer itself for a club should he require it.

Through the cracks in the makeshift prison he peered into the next room. Natasha was there, strapped to a chair and stripped to little more than her underclothes. Her hair was matted in some places, the red swept firestorm greased in blood. He was staring at her bare back. Her hands were also tied behind her and further zip tied to the back of the chair. Seems she had attempted an escape already if they'd gone through the extra measure. Her feet were tied to the chair legs, but Clint knew first hand that couldn't stop her for long. His awareness that she was conscious, and the ugly look beaming down on her from a large man attempting to possibly seduce her, Clint could tell she was in no immediate danger. In fact, he was more likely to come to their captors' aid if they pushed her too far.

Taking the opportunity that being presumed unconscious afforded, Clint looked around his small hideaway. He poked around at the other random objects in the shed, wondering if he might come across something useful. The other wall cracks revealed little to be impressed by. They were someplace outdoors but secluded. Two men on the far left of the shack were armed, but looked bored. The big guy over Natasha was trying to sweet talk her into something with a mixture of Spanish-American English. Natasha looked as disgusted as if the man had made a proposition to Clint. Typically she'd play along, gain her moment to strike, and take the man out. Apparently she'd gotten over the sultry phase of her cover and went right for revulsion.

Clint couldn't blame her. The guy was no looker. But he had more important things to handle. She was probably waiting to see that he was all right before making her move. Which meant the only one keeping them from getting away right now, was Clint. It was high time that changed.

Given the presence of only three perps, he decided to go the easy route. He began to make a fuss. He kicked the baseboards of his little shack prison, hollering and roaring to be let go and a few choice curses he'd saved up for special occasions. When the door flung inward he was ready with his bow and took out ugly before the two skinnier lookouts had a chance to make it to the door. Natasha was up, doing her famous chair-spinning technique and effectively destroying one man's pride while Clint disarmed the second. In less than a minute all the bad guys were unconscious and the two Avengers were armed and free.

"Took you long enough." Natasha complained, checking the clip of the 9mm she'd stolen and chambering a round.

"Me? Long enough? You could have just dropped that guy and dragged me to safety you know." Clint pointed out. He routed through one man's bullet proof vest, coming up with a security card. He handed it to Natasha, grabbed the army knife he found and a second hand gun, and then stood to follow her.

"I didn't want to carry you all that way." She retorted.

Clint looked around, trying to get a sense of the area he was sure Natasha was already familiar with. It seemed as if they'd been stuck in an alley between two buildings. The floor was made of concrete and windowless walls rose perhaps three stories on either side. Behind them stood the shack, as out of place as a poodle in a police dog line up. Beyond that was the solid concrete wall of some dilapidated warehouse. The only entrance and exit rested forward. A ramshackle gate was erected out of chain link, plywood, and other random salvage that likely was left over from local household attempts to ward off hurricanes. A singular slit in the chain link and wood was the only evidence that a doorway ever existed. Clint and Natasha looked at it, but neither made a move toward it.

"Trap?" Clint asked.

She nodded. "Most likely. You want to go first and look, Clint?"

"What do you think?"

She chuckled a little in her soft, feminine way. "Fine, then we can take the alternate route." She stalked over to the left of the shack and tapped something on the floor with her bare foot. As she walked away from him, Clint received a nice long look at exactly what clothing she'd been reduced to.

"Nat?" he said, following after a moment. "Is that the bathing suit Tony bought you in Belize?"

She look down at herself. "Yeah. So?"

"You wore a bathing suit to the mission."

She shrugged. "So I was hoping to go to the beach, what's the problem?"

Clint crossed his arms, taking the moment to avoid the fact that her escape plan involved a new fear he had developed over the last few years of Avenging. Namely, the manhole cover.

"So, let me get this straight. You were going to go in, kill the guy, dispose of the body, radio to SHIELD, signal me, then we were going to go and hang at the beach for the rest of the day. Just like that."

She lifted her hand. Two caressing fingers traced the bottom of his jaw. "And do you have a problem with me wanting to enjoy some down time in Miami? Or are you jealous that you didn't pack some shorts?"

"Oh, if you and I went swimming, it would be at night. And I wouldn't be wearing shorts." Clint replied flatly. He stooped down and used the absconded army knife to circle the manhole cover and free it up. With more effort than he felt like putting into the work, the cover lifted at last and he pushed it away from the manhole far enough to let them pass through. The filthy side of Miami came crashing at their nose. The sewer was not his idea of an escape plan. He was much happier stepping through that fence and seeing what may develop, but given his track record with getting shot on a mission, the simple method was more admirable an alternative.

Clint held out a hand to help Natasha down the slick stair rungs. "Easy going, it's awful down there."

"Had worse." She replied. It was probably true, but that didn't make it any more pleasant a situation to deal with. Clint was suddenly a little glad he was still wearing all his clothes. The idea of human waste being in such close proximity to him was about the last notion he wanted to dwell on.

"Can't be down here long." He said, following her down the ladder. "Fumes will kill us before the contract killers will."

"That would be just about the worst death we'd ever have to tell Banner about." Natasha remarked.

He landed beside her, his boots filling instantly in sludge. He put a hand over his mouth and nose, but it did nothing to stave out the stench. "Well, guess the bright side is we wouldn't have to tell him."

Together they continued on through the tunnel, heading out along a parallel path to the alleyway above them. Thirty feet ahead they turned left and continue for what they estimated was half a city block. They saw the second manhole cover then and Clint was all too happy to climb the ladder and push it open. He'd had enough of any city's filthy tunnels from the frightening experience he had in New York a year ago.

Back then it was supposed to be a cake walk. An easy mission where he was supposed to have been kept out of the thick of it. Instead he was set at ground zero for the most intensive underground attack SHIELD had ever faced with no one other that Loki leading the opposing charge. Clint had sworn off underground missions from then on, but he was only an agent. One didn't just refuse work. And when it came to his survival or walking through another city tunnel, the tunnel won out.

He shoulder the manhole cover open carefully, in case he was in the middle of a speeding highway. When it lifted, he was surprised at how easy the weight peeled away. But then he realized why. A crowd of fifteen men stood over him with shocked looks on their faces. By the shorts hanging so low they could have been pants, the red bandanas tied over any loose skin, and the tattooed "RED DOG PACK" insignias across their arms, Clint knew he'd just dropped in on one of the more notorious gangs of Miami-Dade county. Every one of them were armed, they even had a hostage already.

The hostage was bent on his knees with his hands over his head. A set of Chrome Heart sunglasses were shattered in front of him. The only reason Clint even knew the brand, was his recognition of the man wearing them. The hostage lifted his head, looked at Clint, and smiled widely.

"Oh hey, Birdman!" Tony Stark exclaimed. "So is this the rescue I ordered?"

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	5. Chapter 4

here's the latest. I'm going slow with updates as have yet to finish actually writing this story, though we will get a ways into Asgard before i run out of updates.

Also: if you would like to submit ideas, share inspiration, or see some story extras just friend me on Facebook under Peech Tao:)

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 4**

Clint hit his knees beside Stark while Natasha took Clint's right. Both Clint and Natasha had been swiftly disarmed of their weapons upon their being yanked from the manhole. Now out of the heat of Jackson Cree's victims, they were thrown into the fire. A brash set of RED DOGs with itchy trigger fingers and hungry eyes set on Natasha was all Clint needed to not feel at ease. Added to Tony's surprise appearance, and he was on all out alert.

"Stark, what are you doing here?" Natasha was the first to ask.

Tony was sitting on the back of his legs now, much more relaxed then he had been while alone. "Oh, you know, following you two around. When the building blew I saw the getaway car take off, naturally thought you would be in it."

"You tapped into the tracker I stuck on it then?" Clint asked.

Tony shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"Stark, I'm going to kill you." Natasha grumbled.

"Where's the suit?" Clint posed.

Tony inclined his head to the left. "See that briefcase?"

"You didn't think to put it on?" Natasha fired at him.

"Thought didn't really cross my mind given you two were always so in control of your mission." Stark replied easily.

"Where's your remote?"

"I might have forgotten that at home." Tony admitted sheepishly.

"All y'all shut up!" the RED DOG standing over them ordered. He held a 9mm sideways in Tony's face. It satisfied to quiet Clint and Natasha, but Stark was never one to be silenced. Nothing could ever get him to keep his mouth quiet for more than three minutes on a good day and today wasn't even a good day.

"Actually, I think that talking might be a benefit." Tony told him. "I think that talking may be the only thing allowing for my own survival and if you knew who we were I think that you would be just that little bit kinder to us."

Tony's head flicked sharply to the side with the force of the pistol connecting with his head. Clint launched to his feet, tackling head-on into the assaulter. Natasha called him off but it was already too late. Clint had the man on the ground. The others instantly moved to pull him off, but Natasha was there to back him up. She grabbed one man around the waist and yanked him away. Her hand got a hold of a weapon and suddenly the room lit up in gunfire.

Clint wrestled the gun away from his man and with a simple twist incapacitated him. It was then he noticed the strange bracelet on the man's hand that was definitely out of place among the Mr. T rivaling gold chains. Clint leaned down and picked the metal from his wrist and went to help Stark.

Tony was in an arm lock by a teenage gang member. There was a gun to his head and a shocked look on his face, but beside that he looked relatively unhurt.

"Get down, or I'll shoot his brains 'cross the room!" the gang member swore.

"You're not going to do that." Clint told him, his voice leaving little room for objection.

"The Hell I aint!" The RED DOG screamed.

Two men came down on Clint's back, but he turned on them. One he crushed in the knee. The second he grabbed by the arms and pulled off balance. The kid flung forward meeting Clint's fist.

Natasha fired off another shot and someone went down screamed. Clint felt something sharp tear across his side, but his hand reached out and grabbed the wrist holding the knife. He snapped the arm backward, satisfied when he heard the crack. When he was able to look back at Tony, his friend was already stretched across the floor. He was coated in blood.

"Tony!" Clint cried.

He looked swiftly around to assess that he was in no immediate danger if he went to him. Natasha was unarming a few men but none of them were standing any longer. The room had been cleared of most of the threats. Clint knelt beside Stark.

"Tony? Can you hear me, Tony?" Clint whispered, trying to keep his fear from mounting into panic.

Tony shifted a little beneath him. He groaned, picking up his hand to his face. "Ouch." He mumbled. "Remind me not to head-butt people in the future."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Crap, Tony, I thought somebody shot you! Get up—" He pulled Stark up by his arms and planted him on his feet. He then handed him the metal Magtitan Neo bracelet. Stark looked gratefully at it and slipped it back on.

"Left it at home?" Natasha asked poisonously.

"Look who's talking!" Stark shot back at her. "Where exactly did your clothes go? What _kind_ of stake out was it?"

Natasha straightened from collecting nearly half a dozen side arms from the broken gang members littering the floor. Like a sultry tigress she walked right up to Tony, stuck her face suggestively close to his, and kneed him someplace personal. Tony folded at the waist with a soft _oof_ of a deflated balloon. Clint grinned at his prone form and moved away after Natasha.

"Oh my God, Tony, we were searching half the city for you!" Banner exclaimed when Stark entered the hotel room followed by the two SHIELD agents. Tony dropped his suitcase on the counter top and fell into one of the uncomfortable chairs surrounding a tacky coffee table.

"Are you guys all right?" Banner pressed. His medical eye zeroed in on them with practiced ease. "Natasha, you're covered in blood. And what's that smell?!"

"Sewer." Clint told him. "And don't worry, the blood isn't hers. I already asked."

Banner went to Tony next. He grabbed a bottle of water off the end table and handed it to him. "Looks like you've all been through the ringer. When the Iron Man suit didn't show up on the local news last night, Steve and I got worried. Steve stayed behind at first, to see if you would come back while we were gone."

Tony took the water gratefully. He motioned at his sensitive nether regions and hoarsely whispered. "Ice?"

Banner gave him a sympathetic look and went to the fridge.

"Yeah, the mission went a little wrong on us." Clint explained. He dropped into the seat opposite of Tony. He was still wet with filth and smelled horrid, but Natasha had already staked a claim on the shower first. Given there was only one stall to share, he'd offered to help. This time around she declined. They were both exhausted. Adding a romp to the mix would do little good on getting them back in mission ready shape.

"A little?" Banner asked. He handed over a shopping bag full of ice to Tony who proceeded to lay back and enjoy the relief.

"Maybe more than a little." Clint admitted.

"That your blood or not?" Banner asked, pointing out the stripe across Clint's side. It was amazing that even in the terrible lighting and cover of black cloth he could even see the wound.

"Mine, but it's not bad. Just some gang kids with knives trying to prove their tough enough for the A-team."

Banner went to the bedroom for his always present medical bag. "I'll be judging how bad it is." He replied.

When he returned Clint had already decided that fighting was not the optimal recourse. His shirt was stripped off with his vest and lying in a soaked wad on the kitchen tile. Banner glanced disappointedly at the bad overhead lighting and dragged over an 80's lamp beside where Clint sat. He took a few minutes dismantling the shade and letting the naked bulb blind Tony, before checking on Clint.

"For one, you're right. It must have gotten your vest." Banner remarked. "I'm going to spray it with alcohol though since you're probably now covered in every bacteria known to kill mankind. I'll give you a count of three. One-Two—"

Banner pressed the cotton full of alcohol against Clint's side before making it to the third number. Behind them Tony snickered at the dirty look Clint gave to the doctor.

"Keep this clean." Banner said without missing a beat.

"Yes mother." Clint said.

"That wrist broken?"

"No."

Bruce went to the kitchen and returned with another shopping bag of ice which he handed to Clint for the bruise.

"Where's Blondie and Cap?" Tony asked. He stretched out his legs until his shoes propped up on the coffee table. He looked remarkably relaxed now after Natasha's assault on him.

"Looking for you." Banner replied. "Around midnight I came back here and we traded off. He's out there with Thor sweeping the city."

"What? No search party for Nat and me?" Clint asked, almost insulted.

Banner retort was flat. "Would _you_ send a search party after Natasha and you after being missing on a mission for over a day? Or would you realize that its normal and not be concerned? Or would you send out a search party after Tony who didn't come home for dinner and didn't blow up any buildings himself or appear at any nightclubs, or post anything to his Twitter account?"

The logic was sound, so Clint let his disappointment evaporate.

"I'll call Steve and let him know you're back." Banner said, heading to the bedroom again to get his cell phone.

"Make sure you get him at the local Johnney Rockets." Tony called after him. "Or dial 1-800-MiddleEarth for Thor!"

Clint snorted, trying not to all out laugh and give Tony the satisfaction of it.

"How about we get Steve a rotary dial cell phone?" Tony pressed. When it was obvious Clint didn't play into his first bag of tricks, he could not resist pestering him further to get his friend to laugh. "Or just some woman to call him up every time and say _"Operator?" you have a call Captain Spangles_."

Clint was snickering, though he tried his hardest to keep it to himself. He put a hand over his mouth, his body vibrating. Then he realized how disgusting his hand probably was and pulled it away.

"Could you imagine getting Thor a cellphone?" Tony kept on. "I would somehow have to get it in the shape of a hammer. I don't know how I would do it, but I'd do it. Oh my God, those meaty fingers and a touch screen. Remember what happened when he thought my iPhone was possessed?"

That did it. Clint hung over the arm of the chair laughing so hard it hurt.

"He thought you were trapped inside it and he was determined to get you out! He must have smashed it like a thousand times with that hammer. And no one could convince him out of it being you. Then he thought since the voice didn't show up, you must have been dead and was determined to have an Asgardian funeral for you—"

Clint grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it across the room at Stark to get him to stop. By the time Banner reappeared, the two were in all out hysterics and couldn't hope to explain why.

"You know what? You two are just impossible." Banner said. "Steve's out there thinking Tony's dead on the side of the highway, and you two are sitting around like a couple of kids. Clint, please, do me a favor and jump in the ocean or something, you're smell is killing me here."

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	6. Chapter 5

And the show goes on!

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 5  
**

_The freezing chill swept through him with those icy claws he had almost come familiar with. The cloud of fog hung hard against the ground, making his feet feel like weights of lead. The cold air invaded his lungs, chilling him to the very core of his existence. His body shook. His breath hitched in his throat._

_Across the flat landscape there was nothing. No stars falling from the scarred sky. No mysterious beings with eyes flashing red coming closer and closer to steal the life from him. There was nothing but the endless expanse of a world devoid of time. _

_Fandral thought to move, but where should he go? It's seemed there was nothing left on the planet but himself, the cold, and the fog. But then the light came. Like a single sweeping blade in arced across the indiscernible sky and struck the ground with an assault like lightning. Fandral's body was thrown to the toughened earth. The beam of light became larger, more intense. He could hardly stand to look at it now. A hand, like someone opening his palm extended outward. His eyes remained fixated. A voice in the dark split the crackle of lightning and the rolling boom of thunder. _

_"Barton!" it cried._

_Fandral turned, trying to find the source. Hands were reaching up through the earth with their clawed points raking across his skin. Pain like fire and ice pulled him apart. The lightning was fading. Left behind was a single being so distant he could never help. _

_So far away. Clint reached out to him even as the ice demons began to drag his body down to the depths of their Hell. _

_The Midgardian's voice reached him. Even in this cave of despair. "FANDRAL!"_

Clint woke up on the floor of the hotel room, apparently having fallen from the couch on which he slept. He was covered in sweat. His body quaked in shivering waves regardless of the heat in the room. This time the nightmares which plagued him clung to his memory like a bad seed in his brain. He heard the scream, Fandral's name, echoing like a church bell. But there was something else. Something worse. The underlying whisper in his ear that could only ever be heard in his mind.

"Clint of Barton?"

Clint didn't need to distinguish the voice, or look at the newcomer, to know it was Thor. Simply the way he pronounced his name was enough. It was fortuitous that Thor was exactly the person Clint needed to see. Clint looked up at him. The Asgardian was dressed in simple human attire (so he called it). If someone didn't know him, they might even suspect he'd just come from bed. But Clint did know him, and therefore understood that Thor almost never slept.

"Nightmares." Clint told him. "Strange and cold. Like Asgard but not. Just everything's dark and different."

Thor tilted his head sideways slightly. "A darkened Asgard? My friend, this nightmare can be nothing to fear for Asgard is the brightest of the Realms."

Clint picked himself up off the floor and sat on the end of the couch. His muscles were jumpy and restless. His bow was at his feet, waiting there as if it sensed the danger of its master and came unbidden to his aid. The feeling of dread that shadowed him in the dream clung on still, like an unshakable alarm.

"I know it was Fandral." Clint said. "I know it. I felt it. I don't even remember my first nightmares, but this time it was Fandral. The cold was just . . . it was suffocating him. Killing him. I swear I could feel them scraping against his bones with their nails."

Thor approached his friend. It was apparent by the hastening tone of his voice and the way his hands hand begun to wring against one another that he was indeed deeply distressed. Thor placed a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Be at ease, my friend. Though we have faced many battles, Fandral has proved to be one of the best amongst us. I know well your friendship runs deeply with him. I have heard no ill of his health, and I would expect to be informed if such should befall him."

As if the dream were somehow rising again in him, Clint felt himself begin to panic. He stood, Thor following after him. His bow was in his hands before he thought to call for it. He noticed that Thor too had Mjolnir.

"I don't know." Clint said, his voice was hushed. He expected they were being watched, overheard. He couldn't run the risk of someone being tipped off by the knowledge he possessed. "Thor, I – I don't even know what I'm saying now. There was something whispering to me. It took me too long to understand what the words were saying, but I do now. _Frost Giants_. Thor does that mean anything? Does it make any sense to you?" Clint was looking away, but at the mention of the word he turned and looked at the Asgardian to see the effect they would produce. The shadow of fear that passed across Thor's eyes was enough to get Clint's heart pounding like a jackhammer.

"You do know it." He said to him. His voice was barely a whisper now. They were standing in the small kitchen. Clint leaned his bow on the counter. "Thor, tell me. What does it mean? Am I crazy?"

For many moments Thor could say nothing. His mind had gone back into itself, trying to understand what would cause Clint to have such specific information and yet leave Thor completely dumfounded. Finally he returned his friend's steady gaze.

"Archer. You must tell me plainly. Have you ever heard this term before? Frost Giants, did anyone ever once mention it before you?"

Clint already knew the answer. "Yes, once. Fandral called the guards outside the throne room Frost Giants before we were admitted to see Odin. I didn't know what it meant I assumed it was an insult."

Thor's taught muscles gave the impression of relaxing. "So it has been expressed to you before. That may change things. Regardless, I must go to Asgard. I will not delay." He moved from the table and went directly for the door. He would have pulled the entire thing off its hinges had Clint not stopped him beforehand and opened it himself. The man followed him out.

"Heimdall told me of a war once. Was that with these giants?" he asked.

Thor was taking the steps at the end of the hall two at a time in order to reach the roof. Clint remained at his heels.

"Yes." Thor answered. "The only creatures in the realms who dared attack Asgard. They were repelled, of course, but the war was long. Many lives were lost. Tensions between Asgard and Jotenheim have since been strained at their best. I myself attacked Joten in my youth. It is what banished me to Midgard."

They had already passed two flights. The door to the roof was locked with a dead bolt but it did nothing to stop a swipe of Thor's hammer.

"You think they'd ever try it again?" Clint pressed.

"They already have. Under Loki's influence their men were smuggled into Asgrad's trophy room in order to steal the source of their power. They were stopped by the Destroyer, whom you remember from—"

Clint nodded, stopping him. "Loki's first attack. Jane Foster. I know. So Loki worked with them? These Frost Giants to take over Asgard?"

Thor stopped walking. They were in the center of the roof. Nothing but the open sky existed above them. "My friend." He said gently. "Loki does not merely work with Joten. He is himself a Frost Giant. Adopted by my father after the war. Rescued to ensure peace between our people. Loved by my family and myself as a brother until his fall from grace. You remember my fear, that his escape one year ago may have been assisted by a warrior of Asgard?"

"I remember."

"If it is true what you fear, that an attack may be swift in coming then this traitor will know what it is he can do to help Jotenheim overcome us. I will go and assure that this fear is unfounded."

"Be careful, Thor." Clint said honestly. "If you need me, I will go with you. You know I will."

"I know it, my friend." Thor assured him.

Without waiting to see the spectacle that was Thor's departure, Clint returned to the apartment. Already Natasha was awake. On most nights she was a light sleeper. Now with Clint lying out of her bed, she was even more so. He returned to the couch, after closing the door behind him and throwing the dead bolt across the latch. By tomorrow they would be out of the Miami Beach dump and back to Tony's five-star living accommodations. Clint didn't mind so much either way. There were things at the Tower he often missed. Like his sense of being home. Really at home. Having his own space. Owning something more than the survival pack on his back or the weapons he carried. All of a sudden he felt that carefully meshed world he'd created here with the Avengers begin to shred apart. As if icy claws were trying to take from him the one semblance of real living he had established for himself.

Natasha didn't speak. Most likely she could tell something was bothering him and would need only to wait for him to open up. But not this time. There were certain things in the world he could never keep from her, professionally and personally. But this went beyond that. He would never want to burden her with his premonition of evil to come. If a battle did begin to rage on Asgard. If Asgard fell, how long would it be before Loki decided to exact revenge on Midgard?

Clint knew the answer without ever asking the question. Waiting for Thor's return was going to be a torment to him. But at least he could make the choice to keep that torment to himself.

Natasha pulled into his chest. Her arms snaking around his middle as her head pressed beneath his.

"Why are you keeping it from me?" She asked. "Clint? Why can't you just let me in?"

:(:):

When she stirred the next morning, Clint was still sleeping beside her. The dreams that plagued him for the past couple nights had abandoned him at least temporarily. He was lying beneath her on the couch, wedged between her body and the edge of the hard cushions. His legs were just too long to fit lengthwise, so his feet were hiked up and over the arm rest away from her. In one arm he held her against him and in the other his Asgardian bow was kept clutched against his chest.

Natasha edged away from him, allowing his arm to twist with her body until she'd rolled away from him. She stood and the bow took her place at his side like another woman. A corner of her mouth hiked up in a grin. Unwilling to let Clint roll over and hurt himself, she intended to pick the bow up and lay it on the coffee table. Then it would still be within arm's reach should he require it, even though she couldn't understand why he would besides as his personal security blanket. The act was more difficult then she had planned. The bow refused to budge.

Natasha grabbed it with both hands and yanked as hard as she could. She changed position and pulled again. She grabbed the string, the most easily bent piece to the entire weapon, and found that too was as solid as the metal limbs that held it together.

Clint reached a hand behind him, picked up the bow without struggle, and placed it on the coffee table. He didn't bother to remind Natasha that as an Asgardian-made weapon it was silly for her to even try to pick it up. But that didn't mean she missed the intention. She smacked him hard across the back of his head. Clint laughed a little but didn't move from his place of comfort.

It was early. The others probably wouldn't start rustling around until late. Today they had a flight already booked for New York on one of Tony's disposable jets. Natasha had to admit, it was nice not having to foot the bill for coach via SHIELD credit cards. It wasn't to say Stark wasn't getting his fair share of change from the organization when he wanted it. But seldom did he accept, and only after a little begging from his financing department. She had gotten to the point where, in the confines of her mind, she could express how much she appreciated his input on the team. It would be another few dozen years and maybe seven life/death scenarios before she could own up to admitting it to his face. His ego would explode.

She turned on the pot of coffee in the kitchen and went through the motions of getting herself acquainted with a new day. She'd already filed her SHIELD report the night before. She expected something back perhaps today or tomorrow in reference to the next set of orders and where it would take her. She'd gotten lucky that the last few missions involved Clint and her as a pair. Even though they worked perfectly well as separates, something dynamic always seemed to come out when they were together. SHIELD figured that out long before they were a couple. Now with five missions under their belt and half a world traveled it was a no brainer that the next assignment would have them split apart. An assassin could be spotted too easily if they worked together. One could get caught, and the other might be compromised trying to free them. Maybe at one point during their history Natasha would have left Clint behind enemy lines facing torture and death without batting an eyelash.

She looked over at him. Lying stretched out on the couch with a troubled look on his face did something to her she swore would never happen. No, she wasn't the same person that was dragged kicking and screaming into SHIELD all those years ago. They were different people now.

Steve appeared in the small pass through to the adjoining apartment. He nodded a shy hello to her. "Morning, Miss Romanov."

"Steve." She replied. He was super human. Coffee smell in the morning always reached his sensitive nostrils even from behind a few locked doors. "Almost done."

He smiled and headed to the cabinet to grab a mug. "How was the show yesterday? Left a nice bit of wreckage behind." He glanced over at the couch to see Clint's sleeping form. He adjusted his voice level likewise. "He doing ok?"

She forced a smile. "Fine. Nightmares. We've all been there. It was a firestorm. Both primary and secondary targets were eliminated. No collateral casualties. Even turned over some high ranking gang officials in the mix. Not all of them made it to the hospital or the jail."

"Heard about that to." Steve said. "Looks like Tony got himself right in the thick of it."

This time Natasha's grin was genuine. "Yeah, well, that's what he gets for not being able to tell the difference between a couple of gang kids jacking a car and me and Clint making a getaway."

"_Jacking_?" Steve asked, uncomprehending.

"Carjacking? Car theft."

"Oh." He said, a little surprised with himself.

She touched his arm in a kind-hearted gesture. For some reason she always felt an overwhelming need to care for Steve. He was their leader for all that meant. He brought them together, delved the orders no one wanted to give. He made the hard choices and took the blame if they were the wrong calls. Seldom were they. But his distance from the modern world gave him a strange child-like appeal. There was still so much he didn't know or understand.

"We'll set you in front of COPS for a couple hours." She told him. "You'll catch on in no time."

Typically when Steve realized he missed out on something that was obviously common knowledge for most of the world, he tried to change the subject to something he was familiar with. "Tony showed me how to use the ice dispenser." He reported proudly. "Although I still don't get why it exists, I know how to use it."

Natasha laughed a little, keeping quiet for Clint's sake. "Honestly half the things out there today don't need to exist. Somebody somewhere wanted it and so he made it."

"Like video games?"

She gave him a funny face. "Yeah, sure. Just like that."

From the couch the neglected form that was Clint Barton rolled over on his couch and offered a disappointed growl at them. "Can't a guy get some sleep?"

"Sorry," Steve whispered to him, then quieter to Natasha he asked, "Where's Thor? I was surprised not to see him out."

"He's gone off. Asgard I Think. Clint and he were talking last night, but Clint won't tell me why or what about."

"Something bad brewing?"

"I'm really not sure."

Across from them the door to the bedroom opened and Banner stumbled out, going on nothing but the drive for java. Natasha pulled out an extra cup and began to spread the coffee out between the three of them. Banner was good for zero conversation until he'd at least had his first cup or two. So the three stood around the kitchen as the sun crested the distant horizon, waiting for the day to begin.

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is that danger i sense trickling in? Hold n to your socks, Asgard comes next!

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	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Asgard at last!

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 6**

"Pepper!" Clint exclaimed, getting off the elevator at the Stark Tower. He dropped his mission duffel in the corner and wrapped her in a one-armed embrace, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Miss me?"

She hugged his waist. "How could I not? Tony's been sulking since you had to take off. How was everything that you're not able to tell me about? Did the secret mission you can't mention go well?"

"Good, and yes, and you didn't hear that from me." Clint told her, letting go and heading off to stow his gear in his room.

Tony came up behind him and grabbed Pepper. He hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her off through the living room. "Come woman, man need love."

"Tony!" Pepper hollered at him, beating against his back. "Tony, put me down! I have a meeting to get to Tony! I'm going to miss my flight!"

"Pepper, in the future I believe you should refer to me as Mr. Stark. It's so much sexier playing secretary and billionaire business man." Tony harried her, refusing to let her go.

"Steve!" Pepper exclaimed. "Steve, please, help me! I've got to go. I can't miss this meeting!"

Rogers took half a step forward, confused. He dropped the five suitcases he'd hauled up and was near the point of intervening on Pepper's behalf when Both Banner and Natasha passed him with smiles on their faces.

"Leave it be, Steve." Banner told him. "Tony'll let her go. Eventually."

Clint watched the procession go by him as he stood outside his bedroom door rifling for his keys out of his pocket. Pepper grabbed his shoulder as Tony hauled her by. Clint was pulled off balance. He dropped his duffel again and unwillingly followed Tony and Pepper half way up the hall until he was able to peel back Pepper's clinging fingers. He did, however, feel bad for Pepper. After carefully arranging most of Tony's personal and private life the work she did was relatively irreplaceable. If she was that desperate to get someplace, most likely there was a reason for it besides being playful. So, he made the executive decision to wait for Tony's door to open. When it did, he kicked Stark in the rear, sending his friend sailing into the room while at the same time grabbing and pulling Pepper off of him. The combination of surprise, being off balance, and having a door slammed closed in his face gave Pepper the opportunity she needed to run for it.

Yanking off her heels, and planting another kiss on Clint's cheek she did just that. Steve and Banner had just entered the bedroom corridor when they saw her tussled form take off around the bend in hot pursuit of the elevator. Clint was running for his room door and only just managed to get inside and throw the lock before Tony got out to go after him. Left with no one in the hall in which to harass, and no Pepper for the foreseeable future if he didn't stop her now, Stark quickly ran off in the direction of the elevator to continue the chase.

From the other side of his door Clint heard the procession of running feet and had to smile at himself over a job well done. When it came to Pepper, he loved every opportunity to make her happy. She was like a big sister, or a mother, he never had the experience of knowing. Not for long at least. That and toying with Stark's mind was about as much fun as he could indulge himself in.

Satisfied that Stark wouldn't be blowing the hinges off his door anytime soon, Clint moved to unpack his mission bag. He'd lost at least six arrows on the last one. They would need to be inventoried and replaced as soon as he could. Beside that he'd wrecked another shirt, and his vest was in a rather beaten up shape after having been blown off a building. How he'd survived the fall, he'd probably never find out.

He entered his attached bathroom to drop of the little necessities that a trip abroad required. By the time he had everything properly arranged and returned to his room, he was not alone. It took his eyes a minute to trust what image he was seeing. For a while he considered the possibility that he was merely having a vivid, bizarre hallucination. But when a memory from long before came crashing back to the forefront of his mind he realized the truth.

Standing before him in an image similar to the Asgardian Queen who visited him in the subway tunnels a year prior, was Fandral. But standing was not as accurate a description as slumped was. Clint rushed forward, extending his arms to catch the specter but there was nothing he could do to prevent Fandral's collapse. The ghost image lay sprawled across his floor, leaking phantom blood that flooded away at an angle. Clint tried desperately to touch him, but every time his hands passed through him uselessly.

"Fandral!" He cried out. "Fandral, say something! Where are you? How can I help?! Where is Thor?"

The Asgardian warrior flickered before him like a crackle in a movie reel. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving in effort to remain alive. It was so agonizing Clint felt his own pain blossoming deep in every healed scar on his body.

Fandral was dressed warmly, coated in a thick fur the Clint recognized from Fandral's bedroom back on Asgard. His sword was absent from its scabbard. Jagged lines pooling in red marred his chest and face. Try as he might he could not speak and the image was beginning to fade.

"NO!" Clint shouted. He grasped at air, desperate to keep Fandral close. "HELP! Bruce, help! Somebody get in here and help me!"

The response from the others was nearly immediate. The door was still locked from the inside. Clint couldn't manage to get to it before Steve had the door open by force. Terrified and flushing in green, Banner was the first one to reach Clint's side, followed hurriedly by Natasha and Steve. At the sight they witnessed on the floor, all of them paused.

"Its Fandral!" Clint explained. "He's dying, Bruce, I don't know what to do! I sent Thor. He should have found him, if I sent him! He's dying!"

Bruce shook away the thoughts and wonder and bent down beside Clint. He struggled to control the Hulk rage brewing beneath his skin. The situation called for tact, not brute force. As with Clint, he noticed the dilemma at once. His healing hands passed right through the image as if the form of Clint's friend was no more than the 3D projection from a Stark's work benches.

"Clint, I don't . . ." Bruce staggered, unsure of what he should say. The Asgardian was obviously in trouble. It didn't take a medical doctor to see that without help, and soon, he was going to die. But why send the image at all? Just to make Clint watch?

"Heimdall." Clint said breathlessly. "Maybe he can do something. He can tell Thor, Odin, someone!" He ran for the window, yanking it open until he was standing alone on the terrace. From there he screamed into the afternoon sky like a madman, desperate for Heimdall to respond.

Natasha stepped over and gingerly took Clint's vacated post at Fandral's side. She looked wonderingly down at the strange man.

"Could it even be possible?" she asked no one in particular. Her hand reached out, caressing the soft fur coat. The slightest tingle against her fingers was the only response to the touch that should have been solid. Fandral's eyes had opened to barely there crescents. He watched her moves. His face was drawn and pale, becoming even more so. The blood continued to pump unimpeded from countless fissures. His lips moved, they worded a name.

"Clint!" Steve called before the other two had the chance.

Barton came in from the landing. Natasha made space for him back on the floor as he hovered, terrified, over his friend.

"Fandral," he told him desperately. "What do I do? Tell me where you are, Thor will bring the tesseract and I can get to you, I'll save you. Frigga will heal you like she did me. Fandral please, just tell me where. Where can I find you?"

The lips parted again, straining with his final strength to be understood. Sound, hardly there at all, followed. Clint leaned over the body with Steve's heightened hearing beside him in order to not miss a single note.

"_**Jotenheim**_."

The word carried all the power of a punch to his face. Clint rocked back, the fear not held in check from the features of his face. He remained focused on his fading friend. "Fandral . . . but, Joten? The Frost Giants? It's all real?"

Fandral tried to lift his hand, but lacked the strength. It fell back against the ground, splayed beside him as he faded away in a cloud of golden glow.

All eyes were on Clint. They'd heard Thor's stories often enough. They understood, at least in part, what this meant. The trouble was, what could they possibly do about it?

Tony appeared in the doorway, taking a long look at the crushed door and the even worse looking teammates inside. Pepper had obviously gotten away, or he'd let her go. "What happened here?" He remarked, confused at the gathering. "You all look like someone just died."

From the landing appeared a blast of blue light and a rumble of distant thunder. Thor appeared where Clint had once stood shouting into the sky for Heimdall. His face was grim. There was no question that something indeed had happened on Asgard.

"Clint of Barton!" he exclaimed, stepping through the landing door.

"Thor, what happened?" Clint exclaimed.

"Jotenheim, they've leveled an assault against the walls of Asgard. I could hardly spare the time to come, but I need your assistance." Thor said breathlessly. He was flustered, covered in freshly healing scars. A stripe of red was still leaking crimson down his cheek.

"Thor, what is going on? What can we do to help?" Steve asked.

"I can allow no others." Thor said determinedly. "I must return to protect the wall. They have invaded the prisons—No, Loki he is not free, I have moved him deeper beneath the city, yet it is imperative to uncover his confederates within the wall."

"I can help." Clint said instantly.

"It is why I have come. My friend, the realm is in bedlam. I must tell you the danger—"

"Really?" Barton said. "You're warning me?"

"We must be away immediately."

Clint went for his tech bag at once. He flicked his wrist, summoning his bow and after inspecting it flicked it away again. There was little he was required to bring to Asgard, but some staples were definitely essential. He filled his pockets with some spare arrow tips and grabbed his quiver. All the while he was ferretting away the constant entreaties from the others.

"No, I'm going—I can't stay. I need to find Fandral. Odin won't let anyone else come! I don't know how long. Two weeks was like two months the last time. I'll come back when I can. I have to go—Tasha . . ."

Clint stopped fussing with gear and slamming his dresser drawers to turn to his partner. She had a devil of a look in her eyes, like he was very soon going to suffer being filleted like a fish.

She grabbed him by the shoulders. "Clint, if you walk out of here without me, I'm going to shoot you thirty-eight times in the face. Do you understand me?"

Clint was too focused on the seriousness in her eyes to notice the obvious look of terror crossing through his companions.

"Tash—"

She pulled her gun. It sat a mere two inches from the bridge of his nose. Her hands were rock steady.

But Clint wasn't about to let her break into his resolve. Besides, it wasn't his place to say who was admitted to Asgard and who was not.

"I'm sorry." He turned away to Thor and nodded his head once. "Let's go."

"We must make haste." Thor repeated. He briefly looked to his friends and fellow warriors. "Forgive me for not extending this welcome. It is not my place, my friends. But Asgard _will_ fall if I am not there and we may never discover the truth of this subterfuge without the aid of Clint of Barton."

Clint was already on the landing. Everything seemed to have happened so quickly. In one moment he was trying to hold the bleeding Fandral in his arms and the next he was on his way to Asgard all over again. He could hardly contain his feelings. But it was obvious how his friends felt on the matter. Natasha's gun lowered a mere inch. Her face was readable only to him. Tony hadn't moved from the dresser where he'd followed Clint and begged him not to go. Steve was a blank slate. He knew there was no convincing Clint out of it, but at the same time it was certain he supported this move about as much as the others.

"Be safe, Clint." Banner said for all of them.

Earth faded away in a rush of blue and sparks like flames. This time Clint could see what was rushing forward to greet him. He knew the world of glinting gold and impossible cliffs awaited him. Asgard. His soul pulled from his chest to electrify the senses beneath his skin. He felt his heart skip. A piece of him that shrunk down and nearly disappeared when he returned to Earth from Asgard the last time suddenly reawakened. This part of him was home again.

:(:):(:):

He knew where he was going the minute Thor and he reappeared in the private vault of the palace, just beneath the throne room. Thor replaced the tesseract, relying on the four guardians to secure the device back into place under lock and key. Barton was already moving for the door with Thor close behind him.

"I must return to the front." Thor said. "The walls have never fallen, but my fear persists that they will find a way into the gates."

"Who's heading things on this side?" Clint asked.

They were crossing the throne room now. It was vacant from the throngs of people that usually milled in and out of the luxuries provided there. Even the official guards were absent, most likely positioned around the base of the palace instead.

"Wagren Fai, the head of guard has been leading all things within the cities walls. You will meet him at the foot of Hengral's Cuff. You remember where—"

"I know." Clint assured him. The agent called his bow to his hand and swung it across his back and shoulders. They were passed the throne room's open doors now, rushing down the halls and steps to the outer courtyard. Even from here the sounds of the raging war were not dampened. The invasion of Asgardwas in full swing. There was no time to waste on trivialities.

"Thor, you go. I'll get to Wagren." Clint said. He broke off from his friend, not pausing for a proper farewell. That would do little more than waste time. From behind him Thor used Mjolnir to disappear into the field of battle.

It wasn't the sounds of war that made Clint's ideal memory of Asgard sway, but the lack of the feeling of life. The once electrifying city was dead. Men and women were swept from the streets. The men set to war, the women gearing their bodies to meet battle should it approach their shuttered doors. The tension of fear was thick enough to taste. The mere presence of it was reviling. Clint could taste it on the bitter part of his tongue and resisted the urge to scrape his teeth against it. What happened to the oasis that he so often returned to in his mind's eye? The rivers still flowed, the splendor remained unable to change, and yet the blackness that hung like a low cloud was murderous to him. This invasion must be stopped, and swiftly.

Why hadn't Odin simply eradicated Joten as before?

"Wagren Fai?" Clint called forward into the sea of armor-clad men. The recruits pushed apart, recognizing at once the enormity of what stood before them. All who had not seen Clint Barton in person had surely heard the tale of the human of Midgard gifted with Sleiphner's bow. Seeing him now shocked them into stumbling out of ranks.

"Straighten up, there!" Wagren ordered. The men shifted under his gaze and followed without contempt.

Wagren tilted a head toward Clint. "Brother of Asgard? By which way did you arrive here?"

"By Thor, I know no other way." Clint shrugged. Not one to mince words he launched into the heart of the matter at hand. "What has been done to find the warrior Fandral?"

"Enough to learn his presence lays beyond the wall but nothing more than that. His position is believed behind Joten lines, there is no other explanation. Gulfurn?"

A man came forward at attention.

"Clint of Barton, this is commander Gulfurn. A guide for you in the city. Fandral was absent at the battle's start. It is feared he may have been taken in the first subterfuge of the Frost Giants' attack. To see him carted to unknown distances by Jotenheim claws has stricken our ranks."

Clint extended a hand to the commander, who looked at the gesture with a mixture of terror. After a secret glance to Chief Wagren he took the hand in his own and shook limply.

"Forgive them, brother of Asgard. They have never encountered the champions of Midgard."

"Hardly champions." Clint replied. "I need to know of Loki's prison, his defenses, and his communications. Should we talk here?"

Wagren moved away, which answered Clint's question clearly enough. They headed around the base of Hengral's Cuff following the flowing robes of the ancient stone warrior as it arced around the base of the palace proper. Hengral, once a mighty warrior of Asgard, stretched in an ore inlay around the westerly pillar of the palace. In essence, Hengral had become the pillar, the only force holding up the western edge of the throne room above. It was beneath the cuff of his jewel encrusted cape the warriors were assembled. Beside the heel of the stone warrior Clint and Wagren stopped.

"Forgive my fears, I trust none in these times. Not even those who hold onto Loki now. It is believed a man close to him, his personal guard perhaps, has been tempted to the side of Joten by bribery. There is nothing I can do to solidify these fears, but I have broken down the men by him now and replaced them with those I trust most. Hogun now leads the party. You will find him in the tombs keeping guard. He is eager to give up the position to search for Fandral but I cannot spare him. Do as you seem fit."

Clint nodded, taking in the information around him. From this vantage they could just see beyond the walls to the expanse of the ocean beyond. Winter had come, freezing the water into floes of ice directed by none but the Frost Giants. Battles raged in a solid front of bodies. If he squinted against the sun he could imagine the glint from Thor's hammer striking its way through the masses.

"Without the Bifrost how did they get here?"

Wagren shook his head. "Unknown to all but Loki. He has ways we still do not know. It is believed he was the cause of some portal opening that is beyond to sheets of ice. Without finding it, we cannot close it."

More problems, Clint thought to himself. Not only must Loki's confederate be ferreted out, but the source of Jotenheim's invasion must be sealed, Fandral was left to rescue, the Frost Giants had to be stopped, and they had precious little time in which to do it all.

"I think I'm beginning to understand." Clint said. "Your man, Gulfurn, do you trust him to take me to Loki's cells? I have to see Hogun and assemble a party to search for Fandral and that portal."

"He will have to do, I can only set Gulfurn at your disposal, the others I must bring to the gates to keep the city."

There was nothing Clint could say to that. It was obvious the state of his beloved city was bad. A breach of the gates was likely, especially given the crushing force approaching the line of Asgardians. Already great hunks of ice and rock were being hurled toward the walls but so far none had been able to crest the height of the barrier. Time. Time was there enemy now.

* * *

Still no where near actually finishing this book, there's still sooooo much left to write about!

Please review!


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Where Loki Returns!

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 7  
**

Whatever Clint thought he should find as Loki's prison was exactly the reality he faced. In his greatest dreams he imagined the silver-tongued fool to be wrapped in the talons of a slobbering rabid beast. The cells would be nestled in layers of unwelcoming catacombs with the heat thick enough to crush a soul. He wished for a layer of the underworld so epic it couldn't be described without a shutter running through a spine. And that was precisely what Clint was awarded.

Following his guide, Gulfurn, the two headed east into the Asgardian capital proper. They kept to the icy rivers bank as it flowed beneath the building's edges and into the lower sewers. Together the men slipped between the pipe's grate and descended into the very bowels of Asgard.

The world was full of musk and death. The stench of rot clung to their clothes and carried with them as they descended further and further into the necropolis. A sole bridge of stone led onward and down. Stalactites descended from the domed ceiling like fingers of Frost Giants. They dripped with the hidden water flows from the ocean above them. Beneath the narrow bridge corresponding pierces of rock erupted from the floor. To fall would surely spell a world of pain and death. In his mind's eye, Clint could see Loki laying, sprawled across those sharp points like a contorted mannequin. Perhaps he shouldn't dwell too much on his hopes and dreams.

"How much further?" Clint asked.

"Another league, no more." Gulfurn replied. "If he should require, I may carry the Brother of Asgard."

Clint gave him a strained look. "Carry me? Who told you I need to be carried?"

"I apologize, Clint of Barton, I merely assumed—I would not have offered—Accept my—"

Clint waved his hand. "Whoa, easy Sir Galahad. I'm kidding, alright? I'm perfectly capable of walking, though, so don't try and coddle me. Would Thor make you carry him?"

"Son of Allfather? Why, never."

"Good, just treat me like that. I'm not a piece of glass or something."

"I have merely been instructed that humans require a touch of delicate nature."

"Yeah, so don't hurl me at a wall or something. And spare me the royal pleasantries too."

"Yes Brother of—"

"And what's with all this "Brother of" crap? Who started that one? Heimdall? Don't answer that, just call me Clint, alright? I know I'm probably not what you expected but sometimes that's a good thing."

A quiet contemplation descended over the Asgard warrior as he analyzed just what it was he had been expecting in the man he had heard so much of. Clint of Barton was supposed to be among Midgard's elite. An archer and marksman without compare in perhaps all the realms. He was shorter than Gulfurn expected. His hair was not what one of Asgard would typically fashion. His raiment was black and nothing more than functional. If one were to see the man without Sleiphner's bow, his importance could never be estimated. Gulfurn struggled with himself at wondering whether this man ever had the power to wield Mjolnir as many claimed he had.

"Sir Galahad, this is not my name."

Clint looked up at the man. They had traveled nearly an hour without any further words passing between them. "It seemed a fitting choice."

"But I do not comprehend."

"Explaining it won't help much." Clint said to the warrior's discontent.

"It is a shame the words of Midgard could fail at such application. Is it true that Allfather's son has taken a woman of Midgard? Is she of the same metal of Lady Sif?"

Clint grinned at the new turn of conversation and for the remainder of their spiraling descent into the bowels of Loki's personal cell. They spoke of Midgard and Thor, and all the troop of Avengers Clint had left behind. The fog that had descended on him during his first stay on Asgard was threatening to rise again. Before it had simply overtaken his mind and kept him from trivialities such as thinking about his friends from home. Since he had experienced the fog before, he was more prepared to stave it off now. Even speaking of home kept the memory fresh. He would not soon forget again.

But there was a freedom he loved about this place. The freedom to lose oneself to everything other worldly. To, for a time, become someone else. A Brother of Asgard.

"Hollo there!" Gulfurn called into the wide cavern they entered, now past the sharp edges of the earth bridge. They descended further down a rocky highway, similar to the snaking California road Clint always wanted to drive on one day.

No reply came to his initial call, but the third and fourth that followed were well received from the other end of the journey. Two Asgardian men flanked the doorway. They were nearly the same height as the mantel. In their hands were battle axes Clint would hazard to face.

"Hollo, I say? Is there Hogun about?" Gulfurn asked.

From within the bolt hole a voice returned to him. "Who calls?"

"Gulfurn of Gundergrant," Clint's guide replied. "And the warrior of Midgard, Brother of Asgard, Clint of Barton the Archer."

Clint gave a sidelong look at his fascinating new found title. He had no idea he was _"Of"_ so many different realms before.

To that declaration Hogun himself appeared in the entryway of Loki's prison. His mace hung in a thin leather strap at his side, and his traditional helmet lay absent for now. Covered in a blue set of chest armor and black laced boots he was more the warrior now than when Clint saw him drunk at an Asgardian party the last night they met.

"Clint of Barton!" Hogun exclaimed, and for an Asgardian taken to much milder manners, any form of exclamation from him was worthy of surprise. He rushed Clint and drew him into an embrace.

"Hogun, my friend!"

"By Thor's Thunder, how did you happen here?"

"Well, you've said it already."

The warrior was nodding and smiling. "Yes, of course. But a fortunate time. How have you happened here? To the Catacombs of Temberly I refer."

Clint hiked a thumb backward to Gulfurn of Gundergrant while they entered the prison antechamber together. "Wagren loaned me a companion for the journey, but enough of that. I need to know what has happened? Fandral has not been recovered to my understanding and is there and insurrection to release Loki?"

They were standing in a cave of sorts now. The cathedral ceiling carried their voices in an arc. Light was cast by the blazing wall sconces lining the glass wall of Loki's prison. Clint knew what form was waiting behind that sheet of glass. He knew the entire winding way down here that he had come to confront and felt he still hadn't enough time to ready himself.

Hogun seemed to feel his pause and closed in beside him. "The concern is there, yes. It is evident in all the moves made by the underground guard. I have kept these men to a number small. The fear of Loki's confederates rising behind the lines of war even affects those thoughts of Odin."

Clint nodded once. His eyes were fixed within the prison cell. Two bare feet were propped at the end of a long slab. A mess of black hair peaked over the carved rock headboard. Between them was nothing to be seen. Clint felt like a child allowing his fears to be so pronounced in his features. Hogun remained ever tense at his elbow.

"My friend?" the Asgardian whispered.

Clint inclined his head. "Forgive me, Hogun. It's been a while."

"An understandable occurrence. Fandral . . . I have been rotting here in my need to seek out the location of my friend. Is there some knowledge you bring me of him?"

Clint moved away from Hogun's supporting shoulder. He approached the great cell before him. He had the vague memory of sitting on his bed one night years ago watching an old VHS copy of Silence of the Lambs. He was Clarice Starling, approaching the eternal cage of an absolute monster. But Loki wasn't a silent man eater. He was about to match wits with a silver-tongued alien devil. Hogun remained at his back, somewhat surprised by Clint's actions. But then again much of what Barton did came as a wonder. Humans truly were a unique, deep species with emotions that undulated like a Brakenfrigs tentacles. Behind Hogun the small battalion of prison wardens stood to attention. They didn't know what would result from this strange encounter, but preparedness was key.

As if sensing a new presence, the head of black hair ruffled sideways some. Now the angular pale nose sloped into view. A pair of long black eyelashes with a shag of hair keeping the eyes masked. Tight lips of pale pink slowly curved into a grin. When words formed from that mouth, they cut into the part of Clint's soul possessed only of nightmares. The words were cool, calculated, and formed precisely to completely unravel him. "Clint Barton." A pause to let Loki's uttering his name sink deep into the human's bones. "The archer _here_ on Asgard."

Clint set his jaw in grim determination. "Nice to see your interior decorator took his courses in Hell."

Loki folded himself up and twisted until his feet were on the floor and his torso faced Clint. "What could have possibly brought the coward to my realm?" Loki asked himself more than Clint. Clearly the guards behind the man were disturbed at this exchange of verbiage. It was apparent on their faces they meant to interrupt, but respect . . . _or was that fear?_ Loki wondered . . . that kept their mouths silent in the wake of the Archer. Regardless, it gave him very clear answers to see their reactions to this discussion.

"So, this is not your first appearance here." Loki guessed.

Clint grasped the tip of one of his bow limps and pulled it down past his shoulder until the riser was across his chest and the black string of Sliephner's mane pressed against his back. It was an answer without words.

In artificial shock, Loki's jaw unhinged. "What a positive show. Here, my pet returns and graces me with a weapon of Allfather." Two black eyes rested on Hogun's unmovable face. "Really, all you need do is open the door and Asgard will fall within the hour."

That got the guards shifting even more. Some began to murmur amongst each other but no soul was brave enough to order Clint away from the glass. A truly interesting turn of events to see.

"Just look at them. Clambering like the children they are. Falling at the golden heels of the archer of Midgard. Has the mighty Asgardian race fallen so low they stoop to such debauchery?"

"How's that wolf of yours feel? You know, after I lifted the Mjolnir and smashed his ribs until they shattered. How is that jaw I broke when I brought Mjolnir against it?" Clint fired back. That dreamy part of his mind was still quaking but it was getting smaller, quieter, the longer he stood and sparred with Loki.

Loki blasted to his feet. If he hadn't been stripped of everything that made him dangerous, the move would have sent Clint reeling backwards. But now, barefooted and reduced to the prisoner's tunic of shame he was simply . . . sad. Robbed of his power he was little more than a dog barking from behind his own fence. He made to bark now, but Clint didn't afford him the chance.

"Where is Fandral?" he shouted. The voice carried throughout the cavern. Even the men seemed to jump at the ferocity in it.

Loki looked at him curiously. "The toe-headed womanizer? Why, if you have failed to notice I am not in the position to gather much information."

"You know where he is. I know it better than anyone. If you let him die then—"

"—Then what?! Odin will never reduce himself to destroying his Frost Giant pet and to suggest torture would only bring the joy of watching you suffer with me to my heart."

"If I dragged you out of there and scalped you on that stone slab," Clint's hand swept to the side, indicating the exact one, "There would be nothing Odin could do to get here fast enough to save you. And if you think it would hurt me in any way to peel your skin back and see what a Frost Giant bleeds, then you're an idiot feeding into your own lies."

The cave grew quiet. Hogun gulped down the image that crossed his mind at the words of Barton, spoken with such utter conviction to make it nothing more plausible than truth. He would do everything he said, even worse if Hogun allowed it to happen. Now the shifting garrison stopped in place. They waited for orders, or someone braver to step in and prevent Clint from carrying out his promises.

"Now," Clint continued, "who is under your employ?"

"If I knew what you spoke, I still would not be persuaded to tell you."

Clint turned briefly to the men at his back.

"Open the door."

Loki laughed. "Oh, yes, do! Let's see how this turns out!"

Clint's piercing eyes focused on Hogun. There was nothing in them but hate and determination. "Open the door."

"Brother," Hogun began, unsure what he should say.

"Gulfurn?"

The escort shook his head vehemently and backed away. He was not about to be the cause of the human's demise, or Loki's access to an Asgardian weapon.

But Clint expected his wants to be refused. He had a single gambit to play. He'd seen a cell like this before, when he'd toured the room where the Destroyer had been housed, and knew exactly how to open the door himself. He also knew that even if Loki laid a hand on his bow, there was no way he could ever hope to use it. So, braving a few socks in the jaw by a super human warrior was all he had to do to shock Loki into submission before Clint really did begin to scalp him.

Clint accessed the door pad and suddenly the glass slid up and out from between them. Loki stumbled back a step, unsure of himself for a moment. The battalion was shouting now, rushing forward. Clint was faster. He pulled his bow into his hand and fired the first arrow for Loki's chest. The prisoner went of the defensive and used his phasing trick to shadow away. A duplicate of the trickster watched as the long missile passed through his body to his a wall.

The real Loki rushed behind Clint's back. The hands grabbed for the bow, even as the glass wall came crashing down again behind them. Clint was now sealed inside of the prison cell with Loki.

As Loki's searching hands grabbed the bow string, Clint let his weapon go. The bow dutifully dropped to the floor, taking with it ten slender fingers which found themselves pinned beneath the unmovable bow and the floor. In shock and pain, Loki screamed.

Clint stepped away, circling his prey for a moment. "Yeah, sucks don't it. Thank Thor for that little trick."

From his belt Clint extracted his long bowie blade. In the firelight its edge simply gleamed. He tapped it once or twice against his palm. "Well, I had intended to peel that skin off out there, but I guess here is good enough."

Loki pulled incessantly at his trapped fingers. His bare foot curled beneath him in his awkward stooped position and tried desperately to shove the bow away. But still he was trapped. His eyes were large, feral. His head whipped to the side to look imploringly at the men who just stood there and watched what the human did to him.

"What are you just staring at?" he screamed. "Get him away! Odin will murder all of you for this! Your names will be blotted from Asgardian history! How **_dare_** you assist this—AH!"

Clint grabbed a handful of Loki's hair and stretched his head back. The Frost Giant snarled and squirmed but Clint pulled back harder and now came up his knife. The sloped razor edge he aligned with the middle of Loki's brow.

"Forgive me if I do this a little choppy." Clint said his voice now dipped in determination. "It's my first real scalping. Would you prefer to keep your eyebrows?"

Now came the string of curses. Hogun could watch no more. It was obvious if the wall were to come up now, Loki would not escape. So he risked the prison door in order that he may save the silver-tongue from the Midgardian.

"Clint of Barton, please."

Clint ignored Hogun. His focus was on Loki alone. Their eyes were closed to all but each other. Blue spheres met blue and Clint knew he had Loki.

"Where is Fandral?" he demanded.

"I told you—"

Clint's knife eased cleanly beneath skin, producing a terrified scream. Hogun launched forward, his arms encompassed Clint's chest as if to drag him away.

"Who is working with you?" Clint roared.

Blood streamed down Loki's face. His imagination ran wild with what he could not see Clint's knife doing. "I do not—"

A clean slice of the knife from left to right. Loki screamed, horrified. Hogun's hands dragged Clint back, but Clint was still attached to Loki's scalp and Loki was still trapped to the floor by the Asgardian bow. Clint's words reverberated in the Frost Giant's mind. Scalped. Pulled apart. Ripped open. Blood pooling. Gleaming knife._ Too far for Odin to ever reach._

Hogun shouted for help from the garrison who was already flooding the cell. They could pull Clint in half if given no other option but still, the favor of Odin won out. Who would they rather save? The Brother of Asgard? Friend of Thor and champion of Midgard or the deceiver Loki? The indecision was obvious in their lack of enthusiasm in getting the two apart.

"**_WHERE_**?"

Loki screamed. The bodies were collapsing around them, but still he was not free. They were feigning assistance. They would let this happen, allow this mad man to kill him or worse and that would be the end of him. Loki's words defied him. his voice erupted without want of the repercussions should he survive the wrath of Barton.

"Arabachy!"

The hurried movements stopped. Clint released Loki's hair. The prisoner flung forward, heaving against the floor.

"The Flaming Falls?" Clint pressed.

Loki seemed to nod, but Clint wouldn't take that as a simple answer. He shrugged Hogun off of his arms and stepped around to face Loki once more. This time Clint was in front of him, crouched down to be at eye level. The knife, slick with blood, lay teasingly between them.

"Fandral came to me on Midgard. Phased right into my room like you. How?"

Loki shook his head as if to say he didn't know.

Clint's hands struck out to grab him again, but Loki called mercy before he actually laid any hold of the Frost Giant.

"No, stay your hand! I alleged that I know not how he came to this power, and that is the truth I will swear to it. Only those of great will may perform the task and even that Thor-Mother Frigga will attest it true."

Clint relaxed on his haunches again. The men around him were unsure what to do beside wait and listen. This moment was truly unprecedented.

"Fine, then if he could do it before, why didn't he?"

Loki scoffed. "A warrior three? Capable of that? You must have been fed rocks or crushed in your skull once to many times by that red-headed wench—"

Clint flipped his knife in his hands and let the handle create a new scar along Loki's cheek.

The Frost Giant turned his head back slowly. "Now, that hurt."

"Talk, or else I'll start playing this dance all over again. You said Fandral couldn't do it alone. Who on Asgard could?"

A stray curse, this time from Hogun.

Clint turned his attention upward. "You have someone in mind?"

"The Enchantress." Loki and Hogun said in unison.

It was useless for Clint to try and understand them now, so he moved the conversation on to his next topic. He demanded again knowledge of who was helping Loki on the inside of the city, but for that particular note, the silver-tongue stopped singing. Even with a booted-foot grinding his ten fingers further into the floor, Loki clammed up. The likelihood of giving up his confederate was slim. Regardless, the outcome of Clint's little one-on-one was remarkably profitable. He at least had a heading now, whether that happened to be the real location of Fandral or merely one of Loki's tricks.

Clint flicked his head as a clip indication to those with him to move out. So they did, one by one exiting the glass and rock prison until there was none behind save Clint and Loki and the Asgardian bow between them.

"Well, has this not been a wonderful bit of retribution for the human of admirable heart?" Loki asked quietly enough that Clint was the only one to hear him. "I hope you understand, that when I am liberated of these shambling fools there will be no corner of this or any realm you can bury yourself in which I will not find you."

Clint patted Loki's bruising cheek. "Sure, Ice-Brains. I look forward to the day you and me can finish this little thing of ours."

Clint stood, leaving his bow where it rested and exiting the cell. Not knowing what to do, the others followed along after him. The glass wall dropped closed again. With the flick of a few fingers, Clint's bow disintegrated into thin air. In the blink of an eye it reappeared in Clint's hands. He slid it over his chest again.

"Thank you for your cooperation."

* * *

Oh what scintillating action!

Please review!


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: So what are the others up to?

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 8  
**

"This is _not_ ridiculous, in fact it is the smartest stupid thing I have ever done. What _is_ ridiculous is that Hawkeye can run off to some galaxy someplace at the drop of a hat and come back tattered in a thousand pieces without a single one of us to help him."

Tony Stark ranted as he circled his lab table again. He was tossing random parts of his latest experiment into an open suitcase on the floor. Most of those things he threw made Banner want to cringe. Fusion cores tossed across a room? Not a good idea.

"Tony, you heard Clint. And Thor. They said no human should show up there, its like . . . I don't know. Shameful or something."

Two miniature Arc reactors followed the fusion core. Banner stumbled forward to catch them in free fall so that he may neatly place them down and avoid a catastrophic reaction. He gave Tony a dirty look.

"Does it look like I care? Besides, you are a little stretch for the word human, I'm sure they can overlook that. I'm Iron Man. Done. Cool ticket to Asgard heaven right there. I just don't think Clint should be up there all by himself in the middle of a war he didn't even start."

"Look, I'm not saying I don't agree with you. But Tony, how on earth are you planning to follow him? I mean, Reed Richards is on the forefront of outer space astronautic exploration but you refuse to even see him. And even with his help, that gets us as far as the moon. Maybe, _maybe_, a little past the gravity pull toward Mars. Then what? We don't even have an astrological heading for Asgard and the way Thor talks the place exists in a dimension alternate to our typical space-time understanding."

Bruce caught the third mini Arc Tony tossed his way and dutifully slid it into the case beside the others.

"I will not let a naysayer interrupt my exploration of the Foster Theory." Tony replied enigmatically. But Bruce was a man of level intelligence. To suggest he would not catch the subtle hint was ludicrous.

"What's going on here?" A man asked from the door. No close inspection was needed to tell it was Steve who appeared with Natasha in tow.

Bruce threw a hand at Tony. "Mr. Iron Man's thinking of looking up Dr. Selvig and Jane Foster. Between Tony's knowledge of the portal in New York and Selvig's creation of it coupled with a suitcase full of reactors, he thinks that opening a direct portal to Asgard could be possible."

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but obviously changed his mind half way and instead said, "You know, you are a real buzz-kill."

"I'm going." Natasha said instantly.

Steve whipped his head to her.

"Wow, like that is a surprise?" She spat at him.

"Ok, fine." Tony said. "One in, me too. Anyone else coming?"

"Do we even think this thing of yours will work? You haven't even contacted Selvig yet?" Steve asked, ignoring the fact he didn't really know what they were planning to build beside the fact that it would (if it worked) end with the Avengers showing up impromptu in the midst of an Asgardian war.

Tony exuded confidence. "Uh, no, but it'll work."

"I'm out."

"What? But, what are we without a little big green Hulk thrown in the mix?" Tony pouted.

"A more stable media for transporting across interdimensional space?" Bruce offered. "Frankly its difficult keeping this under wraps as it is. Whether you choose to believe that or not, Tony, so stop shaking your head. Honestly I'm not about to risk not only showing up unwelcome, but also destroy something that can't be rebuilt. Like, Thor's favorite restaurant or something."

"Will you at least help me build it?" Tony asked.

After a few long moments of puppy-eyes Banner conceded his offer of assistance. Now all that remained was the obvious. They must first get a hold of Selvig, assemble an interdimensional space teleportation device, then figure out a heading with which to aim that device and hope to God they didn't arrive in the atmosphere or shoved between the particles of a wall.

All in all, they had everything left to stumble over.

:(:):(:):

The Flaming Falls of Arabachy was a place that existed nearly a league from the walls of Asgard's gates and well beyond the Joten line. It was formed from a massive rock crag that jutted up through the ocean. Its forward facing volcanic rock edge siphoned water up through its previous lava beds becoming a water fall with no likeness. The sheer face was made of painted rock, flecked in all the colors of the flames that once licked its sides. The thousand foot water fall itself was taller than most buildings in the Asgard capital. Ancient currents churned over its steaming molten core. The force of the water spewed upward like a geyser before breaking to the surface in a cloud of sea spray and flowed back down the painted wall. The effect was like watching a dance of two old enemies. Water and fire, playing together, sharing the same mountain cliff right down into the basin below.

The lava flows had created an ebbing island of sorts at the base of the falls. This land was named Arabachy, and time too had transformed this landscape into something of an ethereal forest. Less than a mile in circumference and walled by the Falls, sneaking onto Arabachy was going to take skill far beyond Clint's own and he was fully aware of that.

He was sitting outside of the main cell chamber. His legs swung absently over the access way that had carried them through the caverns into the prison. Standing over him with a hand against his mace was Hogun. Behind him a few paces stood Gulfurn. Both were rattled by the little exhibition, but even more so at the prospect of where the knowledge gleaned was going to lead them.

"The Falls," Hogun said, "You have climbed that water. You have mounted those rocks beside my hands. To go there, even now, would be madness."

"To not go may mean losing Fandral, would you have that?" Clint asked. His voice was quiet and contemplative. He was asking himself the same question.

Hogun sighed. "My friend, if it is true that the Enchantress works behind this, then leaving now may prove useless in either case. If she means to trap Thor in such a web, then going would only assure her success."

Clint nodded. "Thor can't know about her then. The Enchantress, you said she's like Loki? Crazy, but beautiful. Unstopable. Evil."

"Such words never came from me."

"But they _are_ true."

Hogun approached. He crouched beside Clint, looking out at the dancing shadows of the firelight against the cave walls. "The Enchantress is scorned. A powerful Asgardian. Her name was once Amora, but disgrace banished her from the court. She once imagined Thor would choose her for a mate."

"You think its crazy to go after her?"

"I believe it to be a dangerous proposition." Hogun said honestly. "It cannot be my fight, archer. My post remains here. There is still darkness in these walls. To leave would create a great risk."

Clint looked at him. Behind the warrior's eyes he saw all the longing the good soldier held back. One word from Odin, and despite the danger Hogun would be riding into battle beside Clint. But he was loyal to his king above his friends.

"I can't stay here." Barton told him. "Not with him, you know I can't."

Hogun nodded. "I know it."

"I owe a debt to Fandral. If there is even a chance Loki is right and he is somewhere on Arabachy, I must go."

Another silent nod.

Behind them the silent soldier Gulfurn stepped forward. "May I offer my sword again to this cause? I shall escort the Brother of—that is to say Clint of Barton – to the walls and beyond. My life to spare should he require it."

"A bold declaration." Hogun said.

"A truthful one."

Clint got to his feet with Hogun standing beside him. The human clapped a hand against his friend's arm. "Be good, Hogun. If you're relieved, come find me. I'd feel better with another friend at my back."

"Be safe my friend."

:(:):(:):

Asgardian War. The mere idea was enough to create a thousand thoughts in Clint's mind. The image of iron clad Asgardian warriors slamming against the massive wall of Frost Giants. Swords blazing, clouded breathes filling the air. The sounds of horses screaming and the thunder of Thor's hammer. Sights, sounds, smells, everything Clint imagined about the front of war were the exact things coming to pass before his eyes.

It felt like an eternity was spent in the catacombs of the Asgardian city, but the decision was not a wasted one. Provided Loki's assistance proved to be just that. Help. But the shock of the subterranean trek spilling them now atop the walled fortress overlooking the battlefield was substantial. The sun was tucked firmly behind a vale of swollen clouds. They were as dark as they were ominous. The once crashing ocean that Clint remembered sailing across was gone. replaced by what must have been meters of thick ice. The lines of war were clearly marked. Asgard had maintained a boundary around its city. None of the enemies attacks had reached more than the wall, but the way they were pressing, soon that would change.

The Frost Giants themselves were demons from Clint's nightmares. Massive in size and worse in demeanor. Frozen chills pressed into Clint's spine at the sight of them.

So, this was what lay beneath Loki's skin. An entire race of him. Men with worse intentions and ambitions then the little Loki could ever imagine. Beneath those gates were the monsters.

"Clint of Barton?" Gulfurn asked.

They had been on the wall for a time now, watching the battle rage. Thor occasionally could been seen in the distance with the crash of a bolt of lightning that blinded the field. Somewhere out there was Odin, Sif, and Volstagg. Somewhere, far away, was Fandral.

"Just look at it." Clint said. "And we thought Midgard made war. I thought the battle in New York was war. We aren't anywhere near this."

The once clear ice, jagged with edges from the frozen sea's waves, had progressively taken the color of mud. Dirt from men's boots and blood from their wounds stained the perfect bluish hues.

"It has been countless ages since this carnage was brought to our gates. Afore there were gates or ramparts."

"I can't imagine this place without the walls." Clint said. He turned toward the staircase down. "Come on, Gulfurn. Let's see this war."

"Have you an idea to get to Arabachy? We cannot sail, for the ship's are frozen in their ports. It is unlikely there will be ice all the way to Arabachy for which to walk on."

"Still working on the plan part." Clint told him. "Can we get horses?"

"I will attempt it. Most are taken by the warriors or those protecting the city's gates."

"Walking will take time. Time I doubt we have." Clint replied. They reached the bottom of the walls and made their way to the closest gates. The inhabitants of the city had long ago retreated from the homes lying closest to the walls, so their process was impeded by few save the soldiers left within. Clint kept his bow close to his chest, a beacon to all not only his rank, but also his name. It was enough to get his through the first few garrisons but as he approached the closest to the gate, Clint's seniority finally proved thin. Gulfurn had moved away at the last check point to try and rouse up some mounts. This left Clint to his own devices at getting the walls to open for him. He knew he'd face opposition. Just how much was still a surprise.

The man in charge remained closest to the wall. He had armor of pure gold, or something much like it. The metal of his breast plate was studded in crystals exuding his superiority over the men he governed. Attached to his shoulder plates was a cape of purple silk. He had his helmet tucked over his head with two black ram's horns curling in tandem on either side. Before Clint could reach the Asgardian, he was stopped by the man's lesser.

"Hold, fast! Who are you to be at the wall?" one soldier asked.

"Clint Barton, the archer." Clint answered for himself. "I'm on a mission from Thor, just come from Loki's prison. I need to get out of the city."

"A heavy chance of that!" the guard roared, laughing. "I don't care if you're that overgrown Dragstafp Vulstagg! You aren't to be getting in that gate!"

The commander parted the way with his battle axe. "What troubles that line? Have I not warned of breaking rank! Any man found out of—" He found the source of all the commotion, a man so small in comparison it was nearly laughable. So he did laugh.

"Well, what be this puny mull then? Lad, you have the show of a child fed by the goat's udder and no healthy one at that! Now go on then and get thyself tucked under some shoal until the Giants be pushed back. Go on!"

_Wow,_ Clint thought_, that's the first time I've been mistaken for a kid in a long time._ Even when he _was_ a child, he was often confused for an adult. But right now on Asgard? This was something he could not tolerate.

Clint stuck out his chest, pulled himself us as large as he could and stared straight up into the Asgardian's eyes. "Child? _**Child**_! What's your name, commander?"

The commander continued to laugh, jabbing an elbow at the men beside him. "Oh, riled the little guy, have I? If you need to be knowing my title, then it is Stlakin. Stlakin who guards the North-most gate, commissioned of Odin, Palace guard."

Clint jutted his chin out. He was getting used to this Asgardian's title craze. Hopefully in all those accomplishments Clint now spewed some would strike a cord with this low commander. "Then Stalkin of Northgate, I'll have it announced that I am Clint Barton, Avenger of Earth, Friend of Odin, Brother of Thor and the Warriors Three, Deafeater of Loki and wielder of Mjolnir."

It did. The idea that this small creature was in fact the famed Clint Barton of which all of Asgard surely heard of, but few had the pleasure of actually seeing, struck the funniest bone in Stlakin's body. He folded over, roaring in laughter. His hand slapped at his knee, his body shook with tremors and Clint was given the overall impression of looking at Santa Claus himself. If Santa Claus was inclined to go out with an ax and armor rather than elves and a sleigh.

Not to be slighted, Clint pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow. He pulled back the string, set his trigger hand beneath his jaw as the slender point aimed directly for Stlakin's face. With him doubled over, it was a near level point-blank shot. The laughter ceased.

Then something peculiar occurred. Clint's bow, had been forged in the same fires that birthed the hammer Mjolnir, with carvings from Odin himself in a flit of silver and string of spun black. Now that bow changed in his hands. The filigree shone with life. The color sparkling similar to Odin's throne in the noon day sun. The string was near blinding like star-light it illuminated from limb to limb. A strange strength entered Clint's fingers, arms, shoulders. It traveled in him, around him. For those few moments he had the string pulled he felt invincible.

If an arrow in his face did nothing to get his attention, the countenance of Barton did. This was an undefeatable man. An Midgardian with power blessed by Odin. This was the Clint Barton all of Asgard swooned for.

"The Archer." Stlakin said, mesmerized at the sight. Clint was dressed in nothing more than the rags he'd brought from Midgard and yet he seemed in that moment more regal then Thor.

Slowly Stlakin brought up his hand to bar his face from the arrows point. "Apologies for the fault. Of course, any one on commission of the heir is welcome to this place. Forgiveness, I ask."

Clint knew he wasn't going to harm the soldier. Honestly all he wanted was to get his point across, but now that he had he was facing some difficulty in dropping his arms. This new found strength was intoxicating. It was coursing through him like a flood. The feeling was insatiable. He wanted more. It took time, but he rose from his mind as if from a dream. His tense muscles relaxed. His hands eased together until the bow string was at rest again. Almost disappointedly, he removed the arrow and returned it to his quiver.

"Friend!" Gulfurn called into the throng. He pushed has way forward, leading two horses behind him. "I have found us mounts. Shall we be away?"

Clint was still trying to come down from his energy high. He turned briefly to Gulfurn and nodded. "Yes, soon." Then to Stlakin, "We need to get to the front. Open the gate."

Stlakin looked defiantly at the horses. "Where did you discover those, man?!"

Clint interrupted him. "I need to get to the front. Walking at this point seems ridiculous. Now I need this gate, or another, opened. Will you do it?"

Stlakin made to go on about the horses, but he stopped himself and turned back to Clint. "The gate? Open you asked? No, we cannot open this gate! Do you understand what such a thing could entail? The guardian on the side could have my head for such talk! It would leave the city open to attack!"

"Who is guarding the other side?"

"Why, the watcher of Asgard, of course. Shuffled away from the Bifrost it was requested of Wagren he must remain at the high point of attack."

Clint grinned at his good fortune. "Heimdall. Heimdall is guarding the other side?"

Stlakin agreed.

"Gulfurn, mount your horse. Heimdall's opening the gate for us."

* * *

EEP! Soon we see the war coming!

Please review!


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: And the Story goes on

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 9  
**

The line of war was still a good distance from the city. Where as the Frost Giants had an initial attack on the walls, the warriors of Asgard had pulled together swiftly in order to drive them back. It was nearly two kilometers of treacherous riding before Gulfurn and Clint reached the back lines of the Asgard warriors.

The medical tents came next. Wounded warriors with the ice beneath them tainted in the brown sludge of congealed blood. It smelled of infection and death. The ice kept away the majority of what insects may exist to feed on the carrion, but flies were present in an alarming degree. They covered the living as much as the dead. The sight was akin to any battlefield Clint had previously been to. He took it in, but kept his mind away from the more gruesome sights. Perhaps Frigga was among the nurses. She made a formidable caretaker when a bullet nearly took apart his own skull.

After passing through the North Gate of Asgard, Clint happily reunited with his first Asgardian brother, Heimdall. The watcher was at his post, glittering in his armor. It was obvious he had not missed all of the action. His face was alight in excitement and the taste of Frost Giant lives.

Heimdall was not a very emotional Asgardian. He could be confronted with most of the galaxies horrors and stand unfazed through it all. Seeing Clint brought a smile to his stoic face.

"Hey at least on a horse I'm finally taller than you." Clint said, spinning his horse to Heimdall's side. "How have you been, my friend?"

"Missing the thrill of war." Heimdall told them. "But I will stand where I am needed."

"If a giant comes toward this gate I'm sure it will be his last regret." Clint replied.

Heimdall assured him that he spoke the truth. He indicated the Asgardian riding with Clint. "A friend?"

"Gulfurn. Wagren loaned him to me."

"I knew your father, Gulfurn. A fine warrior." Heimdall said. "A fitting rider, Clint Barton."

Gulfurn thanked him for the compliment.

Inquiring after Thor gave Clint a fitting insight to the state of the Son of Odin. Thor had been on the field of battle since the start of the invasion. His presence had been felt leaving to retrieve Barton but again he was back, fronting the Asgardian line and driving his men into battle. While Heimdall recounted the story with pride, there was also something left hanging for Clint alone to snatch.

Thor had been going nonstop. He may be an Asgardian, but that did not make him immune to exhaustion. If the Asgardians lost Thor, if their Heir fell from sheer weakness, what could that do for the Frost Giants?

Clint first mission was clear. He had to get to Thor. He wanted to make the stop temporarily in order that he may inform his friend of the quest pushing on to Arabachy. He couldn't pull Thor away from the line when he was needed so critically.

Heimdall wished them well but was not about to allow them to tarry. He was desperate to get Clint moving on to Thor.

When they reached the second encampment the signs of exhaustion and elation were finely twined together. Men huddled beside roaring fires that melted the ice beneath but warmed their frozen souls. Tents built of thick furs were pitched with heavy layers added to their floors to keep the warmth. Men boasted of their little Frost wars, they showed the scars of where they narrowly escaped a beheading, and they displayed the trophies of those that fell by their blades. Others stood or sat silently, contemplating what war meant and when this long winter may soon come to an end. Perhaps more were relieving the memories of watching a loved one fall and never again rise.

Clint had been in this place before. Working in Afghanistan with the desert heat and sun turning his gear into a walking sauna had this same look. The men, some elated others horrified stood in fringe groups around camp. Some smoking, most drinking, men and boys who could hardly believe what was being asked of them and the conditions they were being forced to do it in. War was war whether on Midgard, Asgard, or any of the realms. It was perdition.

He slowed his horse by a vaguely familiar face and inquired after Thor. The soldier pointed in a direction, west of the main tents where the rest of the Warriors Three had encamped beside the command post. Clint turned his horse toward the tents with Gulfurn dutifully following behind. They passed me with axes and mallets who worked to flatten the sharp points of the ice. Some stopped to look at them, the same battle worn look in their eyes. When they reached the edge of camp Clint slid down from his mount and handed the reins to Gulfurn with the instructions to wait.

The archer knocked lightly on the outer wood post holding the smaller of the tents aloft. At the lack of response, he poked his head in slightly. From the décor and the armor lying in the corner it wasn't hard to ascertain that the tent belonged to Lady Sif. There was a squire (if they were to be called that, Clint mused) sitting on a stool just outside.

"Is the Lady around?" Clint asked.

The young lad that looked probably as large as Captain Rogers shook his head. "She be out, sir. Gone to the mess. Asked if she wanted me to fetch it for her, and she declined."

"What of Volstagg?" Clint shook his head before the lad answered. "Nevermind. If he's not in the midst of war, he's probably at the mess hall with Sif, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thor then?"

The boy pointed out a larger tent, erected like a large square with a pointed center roof pole that kept the snow from piling along its top. Clint thanked him and headed over to the tent. He was happy to find Thor actually in and not still running himself ragged somewhere. When Clint knocked, a clipped voice shouted him in.

"If they've gone through the South side, then I've sent Grafhin there already. My father is checking the map to see where these Giants may come on the morrow." Thor's voice was saying even before Clint had fully entered the tent. The warrior was bent over his armored legs, working numb fingers against the straps to pull them off. He was having a terrible go at it.

"Thanks for the update, but I don't think it was meant for me." Clint said by way of introduction.

Thor's head lifted. His face was a mixture of relief and surprise. "My friend!" He exclaimed. He stood to his feet and closed the distance between Clint and himself. They embraced.

"I could hardly pull myself away, let alone concern myself over your progress, forgive me." Thor admitted. He held Clint tightly, his relief heavily felt at seeing him. When he released, his face was unable to hide all those emotions he masked from the others. Suddenly Clint felt as if Thor had aged near twenty years. Heimdall's eyes never failed him. Thor _was_ running himself to the ground.

"You look like Hell." Clint told him flatly. "Here, sit down a sec, let me help get that crap off you. "

Thor numbly did as he was instructed. Clint left him a moment to poke his head out of the tent flap.

"Gulfurn? We'll spend the night here, I think. See if you can't find someone to set up a few bunks. And try not to let those horses get carted off either."

"Belay that!" Thor called over. "Clint, you must remain here as my guest. There is my company man's quarters beside us. Unoccupied now, your man may take that."

Clint thanked him and relayed the instructions to Gulfurn. After the affairs were settled, he returned to Thor's side and began pulling at the armor plates.

"Thanks for the accommodations. Really five star out here. Didn't know I needed a winter coat or I would have brought one."

Thor nodded, rubbing his hands against one another to breathe life into them. "They mean to break us with the cold. But we have endured worse than their torments."

"Don't you have a squire-kid for stuff like this?" Clint asked. He didn't mind the tedious work, honestly he was more interested in keeping Thor talking.

"Company man? Yes, I did. He was lost on the field less than an hour before. I only returned for a moment to lay him in the hands of the healers. Though there is nothing anyone could do for him now."

Clint stopped. He looked up into Thor's pale face and rosy cheeks. He imagined it wasn't the first friend Thor had seen fall today.

"I'm sorry." Clint told him. "I wish there was more that I could do but just sit here and say that to you. But I'm limited. For that matter, so are you. I passed Heimdall on my way out of the city. He was concerned, frankly so am I. Have you eaten anything?"

Thor pulled his breastplate over his head and let it fall to the floor beside Mjlonir. His cape was wet with blood and stiff from frost. His clothes were no better off.

"I have not." Thor said. "Volstagg and Sif, they have already gone on to the hall and I was meant to follow, but I cannot bring myself to it. After coming through that door I found myself suddenly overwhelmed."

"I haven't eaten either, I'm sure Gulfurn hasn't. I'll ask him to get us something. While I'm gone, can you get yourself out of those clothes."

Thor nodded his head, too weak to respond.

"All right. You dress, I'll be gone for a few minutes. Don't go flying off into battle in the meantime."

:(:):(:):

Gulfurn's innate knack of discovering whatever Clint required was coming in handy every passing minute. After enjoying a warm meal in the tent of the heir, an honor Gulfurn had to be convinced was all right, he produced a stable cot and blankets enough for a king. While Clint and Thor spoke of matters not related to either the hunt for Fandral or the war of the Frost Giants, Gulfurn set up the place for Clint parallel to Thor's bed. They took equal helpings of some fortifying tea, said their goodnights, and Gulfurn left them. The guard was welling in absolute pride at his sudden change in life and was truly taking to the strange Midgardian he once felt saddled with. If he proved himself a worthy enough friend, could he be considered a company man of Clint of Barton? The very sound of it made Gulfurn beam.

The guard's attitude was not lost on either Clint or Thor. When they were left alone, the Asgardian turned to Barton.

"You have made some suitable allies in this place, my friend."

Clint placed his cup down on the tray and went to his cot. He wasn't joking before when he complained about missing a coat. Getting out on the sheets of frozen sea was terrible. The wind bit through him, especially on horse back. At least he could cling to his animal's neck and attempt to block out the cold, but that small luxury was nothing compared to the heat of his bed. He shrouded himself in the lush furs of animals he couldn't begin to pronounce the names of. Again he was reminded of Gulfurn's worthiness.

"Wagren's man. Was meant to show me to Loki's prison. He's staying with me to find Fandral."

Thor seemed warmer now himself. The rosiness faded from his face and his features smoothed . He had long abandoned his tea to the small table between them and lay now stretched beneath his blankets with his eyes at the ceiling.

"My brother. How was he?"

"Helpful." Clint skirted the truth. It was obvious Thor had enough on his mind without adding life and death scenarios to it. "He gave me an idea of where to go. I'll admit I didn't risk this ice just to see you. He mentioned Arabachy. I was heading there but stopped here first."

"Arabachy?" Thor asked. "Does he say Fandral is there?"

"He said the word. I'm checking it out, but not getting my hopes high. Is there a way to get to the island from here? You would know better than me, I don't know how far this ice stretches."

"It will take you." Thor said. His eyes were closed now. His body beginning to relax. "Arabachy. Fandral did always love it there."

"I know." Clint said. "I'll be gone early, before you should start moving. If you aren't aware enough, I leave you a note with some instructions in it, all right?"

Thor didn't answer him.

Clint leaned over, finding his friend had slid into an exhausted sleep. "I'll just leave a note." Clint whispered. He sighed to himself and tucked back into his cot. He pulled the furs up around his face and waited as sleep came up and dragged him under.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please send me a review to let me know what you think so far, and thank you to everyone reviewing already!


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Hi all! Well still waiting for this chap to come back from my amazing beta: icanhearthedrums, but i'm impatient so i'm going to load it as is:) when it comes back with the corrections expect an update!

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 10  
**

Gulfurn had been ordered to rouse Clint within a few hours of setting to rest. While the soldier attempted to take the time to rejuvenate himself, the move was honestly a fruitless one. He was simply too excited about the prospect of this quest and where he was to warden an attempt at sleeping. Instead he lay stretched out in the borrowed bed beside the tent of Asgard's heir wondering over the luck he'd been blessed with. He rose before he intended and gathered the horses. On them he loaded the few coats he could collect and a small sack of supplies from the mess tent. When the animals were secured for travel, he found the courage to walk into the Heir's tent.

The sun had yet to rise over the fields of ice waves. The night was marked in the thick clouds that dogged the skies and blotted most of the moon's light. Having been awake for a time, Gulfurn's eyes were well adjusted to his movements now. He pulled back the tent flap and entered silently so as not to disturb Thor's slumber. He eased between the cots, his hand resting over Clint's exposed bicep. Gulfurn's cold hand was enough to rouse the Midgardian. Silently Clint leaned up and squinted in the dark at him. The candles had worn down their wicks, leaving a ghostly darkness in their wake. It took a moment for Clint to realize in what strange land he'd awakened in. Gulfurn felt the need to say something, but his desire to not disturb Thor outweighed it. He watched Clint nod to the unasked question and moved away to let him stand. The guard waited outside for Clint to arrange himself. They were out in the cold together only a few minutes later.

"I left instructions with Thor." Clint told him. "Of our plans and heading. I didn't mentioned that woman Hogun warned us of as well. If it doesn't pan out, I'd prefer to leave with him uninformed."

"A worthy deed." Gulfurn said.

"I had hoped of seeing Sif or Volstagg, but given the need to be away so soon—"

Clint stopped his thought halfway as right before them Volstagg exited his tent, stretching his massive bulk. He looked like an eskimo wrapped in so many layers but whatever sleeplessness he may have experienced did not hinder his recognition of Clint. Elated, he rushed over so quickly the horses balked in protest. Clint did himself the favor of sliding from his steed to meet Vostagg on a level ground.

"Volstagg, the war has done nothing or your starvation I see." Clint commented, smiling.

Volstagg laughed loud enough so the entire camp may be awoken. "The Midgardian hammer-swinger! How good to see you alive!" Volstagg grabbed Clint by his shoulders and hoisted him into the air. There Clint was shaken, somewhat mercilessly.

"Rather happy to be alive." Clint told him.

"What of Fandral? Anything decided? And Hogun, surely I thought he would have come out of the hole!"

Clint pried himself away from Volstagg and unrumpled his clothes. "Hogun remains at Loki's side under Wagren's advice. I encountered Heimdall leaving the walls, he was desperate to come with us, but on my recommendation I asked for him to remain behind."

"Wagren's advice? What in the world could he mean keeping Hogun cooped up so? A sword such as his should be here at our sides! And now I have news that Lady Sif has been summoned to the wall, some trouble with the ranks or something unknown of the sorts. Is the war not won on the field? Warriors Three has crumbled to the warriors me, I say." Volstagg rubbed his massive belly with both hands. It was his way of thinking when the subject was a difficult one to master.

"Has Lady Sif gone already?"

"It's what got me crawling out of bed, that and all this commotion with a few horses here."

Clint motioned toward his private guard. "My confederate here, Gulfurn's to blame in that. We have word that Fandral may be at Arabachy. I wanted to get there as soon as we could."

Volstagg made to say more, but before he was given the chance, the command tent to their far right suddenly drew open. There Odin Allfather stood in the light cresting over the ice. He silently looked at the troop before resting his sole eye on Clint Barton.

"Midgardian. Your man as well." Odin said, and then returned into the tent. By his tone it was obvious Clint and Gulfurn were to follow him.

Gulfurn shot a concerned glance toward the others, but said nothing. He got down from his horse, then tied both set of reins off to one of the tent posts. Following behind Clint, they both entered the most prestigious command post on the front line. A place Gulfurn could never have imagined himself entering in his wildest dreams. Clint as well had his spirits lifted. Given the way their last meeting began (with Odin attacking him then a moment later gifting him) there was both curiosity and alarm running through him.

The door pulled away and both men were standing in Odin's presence. There were many layers to this outpost. They stood in a sort of war room. A large table sat before them with various charts and maps of the new battlefield they'd been forced on. Small figures of Joten and Asgard stood at either ends like monoliths on a chessboard. Hanging in one corner were the spare pieces of Odin' armor. In another rested his weapons. A heavy curtain spun in pixie silk separated this room from the one beyond them. At the edge of the table was a long perch upon which two ravens stood and watched them. Tucked quietly in a corner were the long snouts of two dire wolves. They hardly fit together beneath another long table with their flashing blue eyes flicking over the two newcomers.

"Thor mentioned a journey to Midgard. His concern for his friend occasionally outweighs rational judgment, but it is not to be helped." Odin swept a hand toward two chairs. Clint and Gulfurn sat. Odin brought a lamp over to the table, setting its base on the scores of paper.

"I have heard from the mouth of a little raven that Loki's meeting was an eventful one. May I ask how much of his hide remains attached to his body and how much you may have taken for bounty?"

Gulfurn stiffened. Clint too tensed, but he tried not to let it show on him.

"I see." Odin said quietly. "Well, while my approval of such a show was not given, I hope it has proved fruitful in you effort."

"It has." Clint aid. "I mean, we're checking on it."

"Arabachy?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the Enchantress?"

One of the ravens fluffed out his feathers, as if bracing himself from a shrill cold. The other cawed.

"Hogun believes it. I don't know the girl. Heard she's the real psycho ex-girlfriend type. All do respect, sir."

There was a slight sparkle in Odin's sole eye. There was no hiding the affinity he had for this bold Clint Barton.

"I have sent a scout ahead already. To the shores of Arabachy. Should the ice continue to hold you may take a bridge direct to the Falls. You have horses. They will take you most of the way, yet the bridge will be difficult to surpass closest to the land. Do you have men with you?"

"Gulfurn alone." Clint said.

"I will send along Volstagg. Wagren has taken both Sif and Hogun, with Fandral away from us our strength is less." Odin stood, the others followed him. "Loki has spoken true, a thing not common I will admit. Fandral is to be found at the Falls but for how long is not known. Nor why. These Giants have attacked in a most uncommon way. They wait for our attack and retreat when it's done. They mean to drawl us from the city, but it is not known why." Now came the moment in his speech that Clint could not have foreseen. It was a sudden declaration that Odin made which could change the outcome of their search entirely.

"Listen hard to me, Midgardian. The others know not that Fandral was on Joten before his disappearance. I had word sent that he had returned to Asgard, but after that nothing of him. I sent three scores of men onto his trail and none returned. That was four days before, and the very beginning of the attack. He was meant to survey Joten for a troubling account had reached us of their amassing an army. One soldier could move in and return swiftly, it was our plan at least. I fear what he has found. Whatever knowledge he has gleaned surely will uncover this mystery. Find him. I have lost many in the quest to return him. Be safe, archer."

"Yes, sir." Clint and Gulfurn said together.

The two wolves rose from beneath the table and approached their master. Together they stroked their bodies along Odin before crossing the room to Clint.

"My allies. Geri and Freki. They will follow you on the journey and fight a viciously for you as they would for me. I trust Fenrir has not totally spoiled you're idea of the species, Midgardian."

Clint smiled a little. "They don't tend to inhabit all my nightmares if that's what you're asking."

Odin chuckled, waiving his hand by way of dismissal.

:(:):(:):

It had been a full day since he'd first stepped foot in that ancient Asardian land once more. In his mind he calculated it was perhaps seven days back on earth, maybe more maybe less. The law of time and simple physic seemed to have no bearing on this magical place. It existed on its lone earthen island a beacon in the midst of the galaxies' blackness. Already in that day Clint had traveled from the foot of Hegren's Cuff to the very depths of Agard's core. He'd come face to face with the only fear to ever paralyze his adult life and he'd seen the front lines of an alien war. All of it seemed so natural now. Never did he question the strangeness of customs or the fact that he was now riding a horse over a frozen bridge in the midst of land that should have been a sea. This was his normal. A normal he'd gotten so intimately entwined with that year ago when he'd first come to the ancient land. Even then the beauty of the world, the simplicity and yet social complexity that enraptured its citizens was like an order he'd always felt was home.

Home.

Clint warned himself not to get blinded this time. He didn't want that numbness coming up and stealing away the memories of Midgard – _the memories of Earth, _he corrected himself—until there was nothing left. But it was hard to hold onto those thoughts. Even now as he thought of Tony's face and Natasha's smile the image was faded. Little features were falling away. Soon, there would be nothing of them to be remembered. He kept these fears to himself. Surely Volstagg was not the man to confide such things in. already the verbose warrior was more focused on what had been packed in his saddlebags then Clint's introspection. Gulfurn held the chance of being more receptive, but the man had been silent as the grave since exiting Odin's tent. It was likely the warrior was so overcome by this new station in his life that he had simply nothing to say. Or he was considering that now his life had reached its utter peak and could only spiral downward. In either case, his ability to speak intelligibly was gone.

The journey along the frozen bridge toward Arabachy was indeed a treacherous one. Great waves remained frozen in their places, stretching icy tendrils as sharp as razors on either side. They had to take care less they should fall into their greedy claws and never return. The wolves stayed ahead of the horses, tracking along the ground with their noses pressed to the ice. The horses seemed to know they must follow the steps of those predators exactly. A deviation one way or the other would produce a rift in the ice, or a soft edge that would crumble under hoof. Still in it all the sun did not rise. As morning peaked and burst into day the same thick clouds merely drew a measure less grey.

The absence of the stars was felt like a heavy weight against Clint. One thing he loved so much about this place was his time standing on the Bifrost with only the universe stretched all around him and the worlds spinning on. Now he felt the grey dismal place Asgard had been reduced to. It pained him to the core. This waste of Jotenheim was like a never ending walk. Time was difficult to keep, but Clint estimated it took over half a day to reach the first great impass. Night had turned to the dreary day, day dragged into setting night, and ahead of them Freki made a bound over one large blockade in the ice path. From the top his long sloped face took in the journey laid ahead of them. He howled for Clint.

"What is it boy? Timmy stuck in a well?" Barton called ahead, thinking nothing strange of conversing with a wolf. Given there was remote chance of anyone with him understanding his reference he went on to ask. "Do you see the Falls?"

Freki sat on the ice wall, not sparring word. Geri hopped up beside him, considering the path as well.

Clint urged his horse ahead. When he reached the wall he became acutely aware of something. At this wall the ice on either side of the path sharply sloped down. The drop was considerable, and not something to be caught falling from. Likewise the wall was high, high enough to prevent the horses from jumping. Clint tapped his horse's side lightly with his heel, enough to swing the animal's body around. He dropped the reigns and stood on the saddle to reach the edge of the wall. He pulled himself up to stand between Freki and Geri.

"Looks like this is where we start walking." He called down to the others. "I can see The Flaming Falls from here, but there's no way to get the horses past."

"Walk? All the way there?" Volstagg complained. "A hard lot indeed."

Gulfurn and he slid down from their horses, leaving the animals beside Clint's. With a single leap they were over the wall and standing on the other side. Freki and Geri dropped down beside them while Clint took his time to scramble down. A broken ankle was the last thing he needed.

"Show offs." He told them.

"Do not blame us for the faults of the puny human race. To think some are still so in awe of Thor's little thunder and lightning show. Oh, it makes me laugh to think!" Volstagg chuckled.

"I know some Asgardians still a little impressed by that thunder and lightning. And at that I know some Frost Giants out there that surely could do for a little less of it as well."

"A sense of humor this one!" Volstagg roared. He slapped Clint in the back so hard the man would have tumbled off the ice bridge if Gulfurn hadn't grabbed him in time.

"Yes a riot I'm sure." Clint replied. "Fact remains, we're still a few miles out and from here we're hiking."

"Don't suppose you lot would give us a lift then?" Volstagg asked Freki and Geri.

Their response was to start scouting ahead, leaving the others to trail behind them. Volstagg shrugged. He figured it was at least worth the try. Clint was the first to go.

Between the shore of Arabachy and their position on the ice were a series of seemingly impassible rises. What had once been a clearly marked the iced over remains of the Bifrost, had dropped into the ocean. This marrying of the two produced a mass of shards into the waters below. Gulfurn took a coil of rope which he tied off at one jutting icicle. Again, Clint elected to take the first plunge to the dangerous land.

"Test your footing before you release, friend. There is no knowing when these Frosties will withdraw the ice to swallow us." Gulfurn warned.

Already halfway down the line, Clint shot a look up to Volstagg and Gulfurn. "Why hadn't I been told that before I decided to come out here?"

"The Frost Giants need it as much as they need to live. It's not very likely they'll part with it." Volstagg said.

"Well that sure makes me feel better but what happens when we beat the crap out of them and they take off?"

Volstagg pursed his lips like a duck and had no answer to give. Freki and Geri looked silently on from the ledge above and Gulfurn even shrugged.

He sighed. There wasn't much they could do about that possibility now. Frankly their own option would be to return the way they'd come and spend another twelve hours doing it. It was forward or nothing. Clint shimmied down the lifeline to the solid (he hoped) ice stretched below him. It was difficult to set his feet down without expecting spears of ice to pierce them. He clung to the side of what was once an ocean wave with his legs pressed against an adjacent one.

"Come on down. Be careful though!" Clint called.

As his companions made the journey down, Clint climbed over the wave and stepped to the next one. He kept himself on the crests, easing out onto the thinner ice and toward their goal of Arabachy. Their journey went from a moderate pace, to painstakingly slow. The moon had yet to break through the ever pressing cloud cover, giving their walk a tedious feel. Clint could only focus ahead on the closing shores of the volcanic island, hoping that the answers he needed lay there.

* * *

ok so that's the unedited version for now, hope you liked! more to come so stay tuned!

oh and if you want to see some great inspiration shots from this story and others, find me on FB Peech Tao


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Inspiration was going good for a while, now its puttered a little, but i have about 5 finals coming up with another 4 tests before then (and this is supposed to happen in 3 weeks? what?)

**_cheers!_**

**The Return to Asgard**

**Chapter 12  
**

"The basic function for the atmospheric destabilizer is to create the proper circumference of the worm hole. If it's not big enough, you aren't going to get more than 68 kilogram person through at a time. If Stark can solve the energy crisis we're having in the pre-phase then…"

"Energy crisis is solved. I said it was solved. The minute I touched it, it was solved. Now What I need to know is whether or not Mini Mouse over there has the ability to direct us to something more than the next room. Crossing a space time portal? Not fun."

"Don't talk to me about that, it was a mistake. And I don't see you helping with the triangulation of the signal that arrived to earth three years ago. Three years! I've been basing my entire theory on the location we're heading to now and-"

"Blah, blah, blah. Not listening. I am not listening. Bruce, pass me that second Arc. I think we need to ramp up this juice a little. Stand back unless you want to glow!"

Steve and Natasha stayed on the periphery of the science lab, watching the quartet of science geeks racing around, namely Tony, Bruce, Selvig and Foster. For the most part, the Captain and Natasha were used to seeing Bruce and Stark in their own comfort zones of energy ionization and blowing up random things in strong smelling beakers. Watching four such scientist all running around for the same tasks was a little overwhelming.

"I don't know anything they are saying." Steve admitted to her. Jane Foster pushed between the two of them to grab a laptop of their table before running back into the fray. She chased Tony away from her mini portal experiment and banished him to his corner of energy transformation

Natasha sat with her arms folded. "I don't think we're supposed to. We're just the audience."

"You think this is going to work?" Steve asked sincerely.

Natasha scoffed. "I'll tell you one thing, Stark goes first. If he doesn't come back I'm not crying at the funeral."

"I heard that!" Stark yelled.

"You were meant to." Natasha shot back.

"I don't think this is going to work." Steve said.

"I don't have a good feeling about this either." Natasha said. "Look at it this way, at least its keeping them busy."

:(:):(:):

"Shall I carry you the rest of the way to the beach of black sand, my friend?" Volstagg offered.

"Is everyone determined to carry me around here? DO I look like someone's bride?" Clint vehemently replied. He eased himself to the next spike in the ice and clung to it with his raw, exposed fingers. The wolves leaped ahead to the next flat plateau. It was just beyond Clint's reach. Behind the Midgardian, Volstagg and Gulfurn waited patiently to follow. It was well within their ability to simply follow the path the wolves had taken, and Volstagg if he was more inclined towards pro action would do just that. Gulfurn, on the other hand, was Clint's self-elected companyman. Nothing would get him to move onward without being certain Clint had safely gone first.

Progress, in a word, was slow.

The massive cliff wall that proclaimed arrival to Arabachy's shore steadily towered on the horizon. It took many hours for the troupe to see the mists of the island's spring basin rise toward them. The falls themselves continued to flow. Their source deep in the volcanic underbelly of the island kept the hot spring from freezing over.

"There flows the great bath!" Volstagg announced. "A warm dip is just what my bones need after this unholy waste!"

Clint may have enjoyed the view had he not been clinging for his life to the razor edge of another frozen wave. Beneath him thousands of shards threatened to skewer him alive should he slip. The island mist reached them now, giving the air a heavy humidity that created puddles in some places. The effect was more dangerous than ever.

Clint relaxed his arms, allowing his body to hang straight. It felt like a welcome respite after hours of climbing, slipping, and slicing of his hands. Hanging there he had a chance to think about just what in the universe he thought he was doing. In the past twenty four hours he had been thrown from his life as just ordinary Clint Barton, assassin of earth to the forefront of Asgard's high society. Here he was respected for being nothing more than skilled. Here he was on a mission to save the life of a close friend, to uncover the source of an otherworldly invasion, and to stop the fall of Asgard from within its capital walls. Here Clint was indispensable. Here, there was no one pulling his strings.

It was a strange, frightening sort of freedom. Returning home after his first encounter with this magical world was almost painful. It left him with a new insight. At any moment he could just look out over Earth and imagine Asgard stretching before his eyes. He would lose himself in those memories. Being back was like being home. It was a home that welcomed him with open arms and without reservation. He was as influential as the Warriors Three in the court and favored of the King himself. Clint doubted the President of the United States even knew his name, even after the New York incident.

Volstagg on the contrary was not a man of introspect. Seeing Clint's pause to regain his strength he imagined it would do them all a great service to assist him.

"Hey! I said no carrying! Put me down!"

"I do seem to recall a word of that sort, but alas I was never a man to remember much." Volstagg answered.

The Asgardian threw Clint over his shoulder and with mighty bounds continued into the thickening mists of Arabachy. The wolves, seeing the increase in speed picked up their pace and lead the way. Gulfurn did his best to follow. He was instantly set on freeing his benefactor, but he had to admit the slowness of the human was detrimental to the progress they made.

Beyond them the wolves broke through the thick curtain of sea spray. They were out of sight for a short time before two howls split the air.

"Land ho!" Volstagg shouted. "Oh to soak these bones at last!"

"I would know but currently a big hairy gorilla has me in this hands!"

Volstagg reached the wolves and stopped. Gulfurn bounded beside him and when all were settled on the sight, Clint was dropped from Volstagg's grip. Clint kicked Volstagg's leg, which hurt him more than the warrior. A long awaited sight stretched before them. The ice stopped. Clint anticipated the complication back in the camp but as travel had gone considerably well for so long reaching Arabachy without swimming was more likely to him. It was obvious that was not an option.

"The warm waters have beat the ice back." Volstagg presumed.

"Or someone is keeping us out." Clint replied. "We ran into no Frost Giants along our way here. Until we turned toward the shore itself travel was easy. I don't think anyone was expected to pass that shard ocean we just went over."

Gulfurn spoke. "If this were an attempt at subterfuge, the creators of it had not anticipated the dedication of a Midgaurdian."

"Be a nice compliment." Clint replied. He shrugged out of the thick fur coats, happy to relieve himself of the weight. He hadn't carried his bow on his chest since first leaving the horses and didn't intend to recall it now. The less he had tugging him under the water, the better the swim would be. The distance looked like half a mile.

He leaned over the shelf and dipped his hands into the surprisingly warm water. It felt like alcohol one the slices of his hands but after a few passes the burning ceased.

"Everyone should strip down. You don't want to sink. If we live to make this swim again, we can grab the gear on the way back."

Clint motioned to the wolves. "Can you two manage this swim?"

Geri and Freki tested the water with their paws then slipped in to the sea.

"Swim out from the ice ledge," Clint told them. "If anyone gets swept under by a current there's not going to be a way to get them out. The ice is too thick."

The wolves took the instruction and paddled away, giving Clint room enough to dive in himself. The faithful Gulfurn dove in to the sea next and lastly Volstagg begrudgingly acquiesced.

Freki stayed at Clint's side and dipped his back beneath the human. The understanding between them was clear enough. Clint grabbed a handful of the wolf's scruff and side by side they swam for shore.

The water became warmer the closer to land they reached. It made the transition from the frozen waste land to the volcanic island almost a pleasant one. The currents were difficult to manage. For every inch forward they attained, an undertow dragged them back toward the edge of the ice. Clint was grateful for Freki's help yet even before they reached the first sand bar the wolf was panting. Geri too had her long tongue lolling from her jaws as Volstagg and Gulfurn took turns being dragged by her. Clint thought perhaps Freki was happy to only have to drag the Midgardian along.

When they reached a point where at last Clint could feel his feet touch sand, he stopped swimming. Freki continued to paddle forward until he reached the shore where the dire wolf pulled himself out of the water. He shook vigorously to fluff his fur. Clint stumbled out of the water behind him. He hit the sand on his back and sighed.

"Thanks," he said.

Volstagg pulled his bulk out next with Gulfurn carrying Geri in his arms. Geri clambered to get down and shook her coat water onto Volstagg.

"Cheeky wolf." Volstagg complained. "Do not blame me for trying to drown you."

Geri growled at him.

"Easy with them." Clint told Volstagg. "They've been a help. I don't know about you but I'm thirsty and hungry. I'm sure they are too."

At the sound of food both wolves pricked their ears.

"If you can manage a side of boar I should be in your debt." Volstagg said, resting in the sand to empty his boots of water.

"A side. Like, an entire side."

"Yes, why does it seem odd?"

Clint didn't reply. Honestly it didn't seem worth it. He was desperate, now that they had finally reached the island to set to the task of finding Fandral. But for now his human needs outweighed all else. He called his bow to his hand, freed some arrows from the band he used to keep them together, and set off into the jungle. Gulfurn automatically rushed to his feet in attempt to follow but a word from Barton kept him back.

"Stay here a bit. Get a rest." Clint told him. "I know you didn't sleep and we've been on that ice all day. Even without a sun I know it'll be night soon. I don't need you backing me up if you aren't at 100%."

Gulfurn at once intended to rebuff the distrust in his ability to continue on, but his respect for Clint's wishes kept him in check. He nodded and returned to his spot in the sand beside Volstagg. His disappointment was easy to see. Beside him Geri bounded off after Clint and Freki. No amount of convincing would keep them on the beach with the prospect of food awaiting them.

The Arabachy Island proper was a virtual oasis in the midst of the Black Star Sea. Massive trees erupted with buttresses similar to a tropical rainforest. Few paths existed from the travel of occasional island tourists for the living world's rapid growth swiftly overtook all visitor presence. Clint found himself ducking beneath vines and looking carefully where he placed his feet lest he discover a hidden LogFryke or Brikbrik beneath the leaves. It would do him little good to come all this way only to be killed by the Asgardian form of poisonous snakes and bugs.

Freki and Geri struck out together on his left. They sniffed and pawed at the occasional tree to coax hidden creatures to run. Geri clawed at the ground over a large mossy hill to receive a mouthful of voles for her trouble. Freki snapped up a few of the stragglers.

"I'd ask you to share, but I think I'll survive." Clint told them. He moved on ahead, having trouble seeing any game of a good size with the rainforest so overgrown around them. He needed a better vantage point.

In the time since Clint had first visited the island with Volstagg, Hogen, and Fandral the landscape had changed considerably. He had a vague idea of his direction and the sounds of the falls themselves led him into the area he knew would prove most effective. After enjoying their small game, Geri and Freki loped after him.

The shade of the forest stopped blindly at the mouth of a water basin. The Flaming Falls rose from the far left, shooting up into the sky higher than Clint could see. The washbowl it emptied into was wide and round, so much so that even the pounding water of the falls hardly created more than a ripple from where Clint stood.

He'd missed this. The water warm enough to bathe in. The massage of those falls hitting his back. He reached into the water and combed a hand through the clear fluid. The sting of his cuts eased in those clear healing waters. He could see the razor thin slices begin to seal together. It wasn't a perfect replacement for the healing touch of Thor's mother, but it was soothing.

Behind him Freki and Geri made a bounding leap through the air and came crashing down into the washbowl. They paddled in slow circles, shaking the beach sand off their hides and snapping at the water. When Freki came up with a sizable fish in his jaws, Clint understood why.

"Not a bad trick." Clint said admirably. He pulled off his shoes and waded into the water after them. While game may prove scarce, fish were abundant. Gulfurn and Volstagg would have to make do without their side of pork.

Clint pulled a few arrows from his quiver and set one against his bow string. The others he held sideways in his mouth would he require them. Fishing by hand had never been a strong suit, but fishing with his bow was a decidedly unfair advantage against all fish kind, Asgardian or otherwise.

Geri and Freki paddled near the opposite side of the basin to give him room and avoid being skewered in the foot. Geri came up with a fish of her own, a considerably large one at that. She grabbed the creature by its slender face and resorted to climbing back to land in order to drag the monster out from the depths. Freki joined at the tail. When they had it one land, Clint saw the fish was nearly as long as the wolves together.

"I think that's just showing off now." Clint told them with a grin.

Geri flicked a lazy eye towards him as she continued to gnaw on her catch. If the archer had any ideas of sharing this meal they were readily dispelled so he set to his own fishing. Progress was slow at first. The wolves had stirred up a majority of the water on his side which scared off most of the larger species. It took some patience to stand still and wait for better targets to arrive but Clint did just that's. He was rewarded handsomely.

Between the four arrows he brought into the water he caught seven fish plus something he couldn't readily declare was a fish at all. It looked like nothing he could compare to an earthly model and after bringing its squirming, tentacle form out of the water both Geri and Freki growled. Given that sort of response, Clint thought better about attempting to eat it and left the creature in the water.

"At least some of that should satiate Volstagg's appetite for now." Clint declared. He replaced his arrows into his quiver and looked back over his shoulder at the wolves still on the other side. "Are you two finished or should I come back?"

Freki was already up from his meal and sniffing down the opposite shore. Geri was licking the undersides of her paws. Freki stopped, his hackles shot up along his back and he chuffed. Ears pricked forward, Geri trotted over to him and both nuzzled something against the ground by the lake.

Clint grabbed his bow and quiver, but left the other things on the shore and waded through the basin over to them. As he approached he could make out the outline of a clump of furs. He wondered perhaps whether the object was some dead animal they happened across but as he pulled himself out of the water he realized the truth.

It was a coat. More than a coat, it was Fandral's coat.

Clint hit his knees and grabbed the article in his hands. He turned it over in the dim light from the moons and stars that out here peaked through the oppressive cloud cover of the capital. He could feel the clumps of sticky material dried to the front and back of the coat. Holding it up showed what appeared to be slices from a sword going through the front and into the back, or perhaps the other way around.

"Geri, go back for the others." Clint instructed. "Bring them as fast as you can. Freki, can you track this?"

Geri bounded away, circling the water before disappearing into the wood. Freki took a few huffs of the coat and lowered his nose to the ground. The trail would be old, considerably old at this point. Going on instinct more than scent, Freki struck out in a slow perimeter.

"Tell me if you smell blood." Clint said. "He must be here. Hiding somewhere. When I saw him before he looked like he was on stone, like in a car—"

Clint suddenly turned to the rock wall of the flaming falls. Cave. It looked like Fandral was in a cave. There was one carved into the base of the water fall itself and large enough for a man to hide in. Freki was already padding in that direction, but Clint struck out ahead of him.

"Fandral!" He called as he ran. "Fandral if you're in there say something!"

Behind him Freki howled. They encountered a sword now, trapped in the grass and broken in half. The point was missing.

He had to be there, hiding in the cave. It made sense. Clint pressed himself against the rocks. He felt for the hand holds Fandral used to crawl into the cave. He saw the streak of dried blood against the wall. Beside him Freki braved the ledge and falling water to slip into the cave behind him. It was dark and disorienting being inside. Clint was going to need a fire if he was ever going to see well enough to search.

Freki growled sharply beside him.

"What is it?" Clint asked. The wolf didn't move from the mouth of the cave. The water pounding at their backs made it difficult to hear. The wolf's refusal to move deeper inside kept Clint a comfortable distance back as well.

"Fandral!" Clint called into the dark. "Fandral if you're here answer me!"

A muffled cry reached Clint's ears. With the echo it was impossible to know which way it came from.

"Fandral! I'm here, say something, and let me know where you are. Freki can you see him?"

The wolf chuffed, growling again with his lips peeled back.

"-of Barton?"

Clint turned. The sound was coming from outside. It was Gulfurn and Volstagg.

"In here!" Clint said. "I need a light, its pitch black."

A slender muzzle appeared behind the water fall. A long pink tongue lolled out to one side as Geri panted from her run.

"A fire you shall have. Gulfurn, that flint man, hand it forth! Hold fast, my friend we come now. Can you see him? Is he there?"

"I can't tell, hurry in!"

Freki stalked by, pressing closely between wall of the flaming falls and Clint's body. She crawled forward, her belly just above the floor stones. Her eyes fixed sharply in the cave but she refused to draw closer.

"Volstagg, get in here and hurry!" Clint shouted. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what, couldn't see beyond a few inches in front of his face, but there was something in this room that had Odin's guard wolves on edge and that was enough for him. He didn't realize he'd been holding his bow with arrow nocked and ready.

Gulfurn came through first, a massive branch wrapped in Fandral's coat was in his hands as a torch. The cavern lit. The ceiling was high. The walls were pushed back, making the cavern taller and wider than Clint remembered on his first trip. There was another addition, many strangely carved stones.

"What are they, Gulfurn?" Clint asked.

Freki and Geri snapped at the stones, their throats rolling in snarls.

"I do not know." Gulfurn said.

Clint pushed forward. He stooped down by one of the carvings to peer at its shape. He was surprised to find they were wolves. All of them were carved in a sitting position, their heads thrown back as if to howl at the ceiling. A second torch eliminated the cave as Volstagg came beneath the falls. The play of the two cast an eerie glow among the hundreds of stone wolves packed into the cave.

"**Do not touch them**!" Volstagg cried out.

Clint retracted his hand.

Volstagg closed in beside him to stare at the wolves. "Howling Stones." He said. He helped Clint to his feet and pulled him away from the image. "What manner is this? Howling Stones, in Arabachy? What do they mean to guard here?"

"I have never seen one." Gurlfurn said, refusing to approach.

"What are they supposed to be?"

"Dangerous. A wolf each one. Harbored in the stone engravings you see here. This is a product of Loki. Loki or one like him. This is a dangerous place, my friend."

"Could the Enchantress be behind it?" Clint asked.

"Enchantress?" Volstagg asked, sweeping his torch toward Clint. "What do you mean by that? Is that who we have come to this land after?"

"It was a rumor, yes. Loki may have mentioned it."

"His word is a difficult one to believe, but I would not be advised to taking it on this occasion. I cannot attempt this maze, archer, for my belly may just prove the death of us should its bulk touch stone. Take my torch to light the path, and do not touch the stones."

Clint nodded, taking the tree limb from Volstagg. He scanned the cave, trying to determine the best way through the maze of stone wolves. The last thing he wanted was to touch one and have a snarling wolf snapping after him. He found a less dangerous method and carefully went toward it. Now with a little illumination for his path, he could see Fandral wasn't lying anywhere in the main chamber. There was a second chamber further back, but he couldn't see it passed the lines of Howling Stones. He moved carefully, skillfully, through the rocky figures. At any moment he expected one to come alive, but so long as he remained out of reach he was safe.

He reached the back of the chamber. It turned a sharp right and the passageway narrowed to a single file straight shot to the inner chamber. The entire route was stuffed full of Howling Stones.

"Are you safe, my friend?" Gulfurn asked.

"Yeah, but this spot up here is tighter than a fat chick's spanks." Clint replied.

"Why do you speak of birds? I do not understand." Gulfurn replied.

"It's not birds it's another word for—you know what never mind. You two are like talking to Cap some days." Clint saw a clear spot ahead. Taking a chance, he stepped back a little, wound up, and threw the torch. It landed just beyond the line of stones at the end of the passage.

"Again, I do not understand this." Gulfurn said.

"I'm checking the back chamber. You two stick here." Clint said. "If I start screaming, or running, or something you better get in here and help me."

"It will be done."

"Good." Clint took a deep breath and clambered up the first wall. Using a proper hand hold on one side of the wall and a leaned over to the other. Hovering carefully over the walls he edged himself forward a very little at a time. He felt like he'd been recruited in the deadliest version of American Ninja Warrior he could conjure. The rocks were wet, causing his grip to be slick and shaky. He continued forward, reaching the end of the short passage to jump back down over the torch. He was in the back chamber now. He swept the light forward, high, to get a good look inside before he tried to walk in. Another strange surprise came when he saw the place was empty of Howling Stones but full of something else.

"Fandral!" Clint screamed. He rushed into the room, dropping the torch as he hit the rock floor beside his friend.

"I found him!" Clint screamed. "I found him, he's here!"

The echoes of Gulfurn and Volstagg's voice reached him, but it was too low to hear.

He carefully turned Fandral's face to him and whispered his name. He tapped Fandral's cheek, pulled open his eye lids, felt for his pulse. The Asgardian warrior was cold and his face was clammy. The cave floor was dark in the blood Clint had watched crawl across his carpet back on Midgard. He'd be surprised if Fandral was still alive.

"You have him?!" a distant Volstagg called loud enough now to hear.

"I have him! He's here!"

Clint pulled open Fandral's tunic, loosening his chest armor to get a better view of his wounds. If Clint knew anything about Asgardian healing, he knew it was faster than the average human. Was it possible for Fandral to survive being stuffed in a cave for days by himself? That was an entirely different question.

He found the thrusts that matched the marks in Fandral's coat. They also corresponded with most of the blood on the floor. Was this possible that Fandral could have survived being on his own in this place? Clint tried for a pulse again. If it existed it was weak. He pressed his ear against Fandral's exposed chest.

An icy hand snaked around Clint's neck as he was bent down. Clint lunched forward, turned, summoned his bow to his hands and stood prepared to use it for a club. That's when he received his first real look at the woman simply known as the Enchantress.

* * *

somebody stop me, i'm making a tumblr page... :)

new update should be up in a few days/week.

PLEASE REVIEW!


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